


Hexed!

by Randominity



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Hogwarts Sixth Year, M/M, Magical Accidents, Mpreg, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:58:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randominity/pseuds/Randominity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry uses the wrong hex, and Draco suffers the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hexed!

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in full to LJ on November 11, 2004. Much gratitude to misskittye and cincodemaygirl on LJ who beta'ed, held my hand, talked me down from various ledges, etc. as I wrote this.

"Spot check," the voice announced from the compartment door on the Hogwarts Express, suitably cool and arrogant as to be unmistakable; and now, Harry thought, the beginning of his Sixth Year was officially underway.

"Could only be Malfoy," he said, exchanging resigned glances with Ginny, Neville, and the top of Luna Lovegood's head.

"Starting a bit early this year, isn't he?" Ginny asked, pulling her wand out from under her robes. Harry and Neville followed suit, while Luna blithely continued to read her copy of the _Quibbler_. "We aren't even at Hogwarts yet, and I'm tired of him already."

"And Ron and Hermione aren't finished with their Prefects' meeting yet, are they?" Harry wanted to know, then sighed as the compartment door slid open.

Malfoy cast his gaze about at the passengers disdainfully. "Hmmm," he mused. "I'm not sure this lot pass regulations, eh Crabbe? Goyle?" Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle snickered, cracking beefy knuckles and taking up the entire corridor.

"Don't you have a Prefects' meeting to be at, or something?" Ginny asked calmly, but her hand had closed around her wand in preparation.

"I was excused," Malfoy shrugged. " _Some_ of us have important _duties_ to attend to." He narrowed his eyes at Harry. "So what's this, then, Potter?" he asked. "You're still showing your face when you know I've got a promise to make good on?"

Harry kept his expression blank except for a raised eyebrow. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Malfoy," he said, as innocently as possible.

"I told you I'd make you pay for putting my father into Azkaban," Malfoy replied, glowering darkly at him. "When I'm through with you, you'll wish you'd never come to Hogwarts."

"Right," Harry grinned. "After all, when Azkaban's through with your father, he'll wish he'd never become a Death Eater--"

Malfoy had his wand out in a show of Seeker reflexes, with Crabbe and Goyle following, but Harry and his friends were ready. He heard a jumble of hexes fly - Twitchy Ears hex, a Fur Spell from Luna -- and tried out one of the new hexes he'd read about over the summer. He concentrated on the thought of Malfoy's smug little mouth sealed shut, and smiled slightly, before uttering the incantation.

A small spray of white light shot from the end of Harry's wand and dispersed, not over Malfoy's head as Harry was expecting, but towards Malfoy's abdomen instead. It struck with enough force to send Malfoy staggering back a step, jostling his henchmen and distracting them long enough for Neville to successfully Petrify Crabbe for a moment. "Good _job_ , Neville," Harry murmured, impressed; Neville had never Petrified such a large target before.

"Really, Malfoy," Ron's voice came from the corridor behind the Slytherins. "I thought we told you, no playing in the halls?" He and Hermione backed a stiff-limbed Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy out of the doorway on the ends of their outstretched wands.

Malfoy frowned over the line of Ron's outstretched wand, one hand pressed protectively over his stomach. He looked, Harry thought, a bit more bewildered than the situation called for. "What did you do to me, Potter?" Malfoy asked, his voice low. He kept his eyes on Ron, warily, when he said it.

Harry allowed himself a smirk, folding his arms. "Wouldn't _you_ like to know," he said.

"We should _all_ get back to our seats," Hermione insisted. "We're almost there. Honestly, Malfoy, we're _Prefects_. Can't you control yourself even a _little_ better?" She rolled her eyes, forcing them back further with her wand, and grudgingly, they made their way back to their respective compartments.

"What _was_ the spell you cast on Malfoy?" Hermione asked Harry later, as they climbed into the thestral-drawn carriages that were to take them up to Hogwarts. "I heard you cast it when we were outside. I've never heard it before."

Harry gaped at her. "What are you talking about? You know that spell," he said. "Impervioso? That modification of Impervius that's supposed to--"

"Seal up bodily orifices, yes," Hermione nodded. "Of course I know _that_ one."

"So?" Harry shrugged. "I was just focused on shutting his mouth; that's all."

"But I thought-- it sounded like you said 'Im _pre_ vioso' instead." Hermione frowned. "Maybe I mis-heard you," she said, but didn't sound convinced.

Harry thought back, mouthing both words to himself silently. He didn't suppose they were all that much alike. "Maybe it didn't work because I mispronounced it?" he suggested.

"It didn't look that way," Ron put in. "It definitely looked like something hit Malfoy back there."

"Well, I wish I'd got it right," Harry said wryly. "Now Malfoy will live to speak another day, whether we like it or not."

~*~

After the Sorting and the welcoming feast, Harry was roused from his post-meal stupor by an anxious Hermione hovering over his shoulder. He had barely noticed her rising after the first course. "Harry," she said urgently. "After Ron and I show the first years to our dormitories, I'm going to go to the library and try to look up that spell you cast on Malfoy earlier."

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Hermione, can't you leave it?" Ron told her. He had unbuttoned the top of his trousers already, in preparation for a second helping. "Maybe it's just some spell to cause indigestion or something, and Malfoy got confused and suspicious. Can't hurt watching him squirm a bit, can it, while he waits for the other shoe to drop?"

"Oh, sure," Hermione said, straightening so that she was now looking down at Harry and Ron. "And maybe it's something more serious that we don't know anything about. Maybe Malfoy's fine now, but will get worse later. We have to know what happened, or Harry could really get into trouble."

Harry shrugged. "I guess," he said, and yawned. "Let me know what you find out, will you?" He supposed he should be happy that Hermione was concerned enough about his well-being to do this; but concerning Malfoy, he just couldn't be bothered to care.

~*~

It was well into the first week of classes when Malfoy cornered Harry again. Harry had turned in his seat in the Great Hall when Ron rose abruptly, to see that Malfoy was approaching them. The Slytherin was alone.

"And what do _you_ want," Ron said, while Harry stood as well. He wasn't worried -- Malfoy wouldn't cause them any trouble in the middle of the Great Hall -- but his skin tingled with anticipation nonetheless.

"If I could have a word with you, Potter," Malfoy said, glancing between Hermione and Ron before his gaze again settled on Harry. He looked fine and completely composed, though there was a slight pinkish tinge to his cheeks that Harry didn't normally associate with Malfoy. "Alone?"

"Anything you can say to me, you can say in front of my friends," Harry said firmly. He could feel the eyes of some of the other students on his back.

Malfoy seemed to debate that for a moment, lips tightly pursed together, before saying, "all right then," rather brusquely. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, his wand in his right hand but not ready for use. "Undo it."

Harry shook his head slowly. He wondered, for a brief moment, if Hermione might have been right about the possible severity of the spell. "Undo what?" he asked carefully.

Malfoy sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. "The _hex_ , Potter," he said, glaring. "I've been a good enough sport, I've waited for it to wear off, and it's not, and my patience is wearing thin. So _undo_ it."

"I'm afraid I can't, Malfoy," Harry said, and gave Malfoy a falsely sweet grin, "because I've no idea what I did to you."

Malfoy's gray eyes grew suddenly large in his face before he recovered his usual mask of belligerence. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then reconsidered, then opened it again. "You'd better hope this is temporary, Potter," he said coldly, and turned on his heel to walk away.

"Or what," Ron called after him, "you'll let him out-hex you again?" Harry could hear Luna Lovegood's shrieks of laughter from a table away.

~*~

Hermione was waiting up for Harry and Ron when they finally made it up to the Gryffindor common room. "Bad news, Harry," she said anxiously, meeting them at the portrait door. "I've been doing more reading, and that hex you mis-cast on Malfoy? It _was_ a valid spell you cast, and it's a big one."

"Yeah, I thought it might be," Harry admitted, slumping down into one of the big chairs by the fireplace. "He cornered me just now and demanded that I undo it."

"I'm surprised he didn't try to curse you into next week," Hermione said dolefully, holding up her book. "Listen to this: _'The Imprevius spell came into widespread use immediately after its invention in 1943 by one M. Hancock-Brown, for couples rendered infertile due to medical or magical mishaps'_."

"So-- it's some kind of birth control?" Ron asked.

"It's the _reverse_ of birth control," Hermione said, and kept reading. " _'The spell repairs or creates in the recipient a fully-functional uterus and birth canal--'_ "

"Whoa!" Ron said, and Harry covered his mouth to hide his snicker. "Harry, you turned Malfoy into a _girl_!"

" _'--and'_ ," Hermione continued pointedly, " _'implants an embryo conceived with the spell-caster's essence'_." She looked up, and the urge to laugh left Harry as suddenly as it came. Ron's attempt to stifle a gasp was not entirely successful, though Harry could hardly blame him.

"What does that-- what are you saying, Hermione? Are you saying," Harry said slowly, "that my hex made Malfoy... pregnant? Without even touching him? And yet it's... mine, somehow. The baby."

"That's what I'm saying, Harry." Hermione put her hand on his knee. "I'm sorry."

Harry's limbs felt heavy, where they weren't feeling numb. "I think I need to sit down," he mumbled.

"You're already sitting down," Ron said weakly.

This was not as bad as it sounded, Harry thought. He just had to think things through. He could do this. "Well," he began, "at least now we know what it is, so we can look up the counter-spell, right?" He glanced up at Hermione as he said it, and his stomach immediately sank.

"That's just it, Harry," Hermione said. "There is no counter-spell. This is a spell used by people who _want_ to have babies. Nobody's ever wanted to undo it before."

"What," Ron argued, "nobody's ever mispronounced a hex before?" He pointed accusingly at the book in Hermione's hand. "There's got to be at least some sort of... gender-switching, female-body-part-removing sort of spell in there somewhere."

"Ron, I've _looked_ ," Hermione said sadly. "There's nothing. I've tried. I don't know what to tell you, Harry."

"Forget it," Harry said. "Malfoy'll have kittens -- he doesn't even know about the bit where he's pregnant, yet."

"Actually, he'll have a baby, won't he," Ron offered, unhelpfully.

~*~

Harry knew that he was in a race against time, or, rather, against Draco Malfoy. At any moment the Slytherin could discover the seriousness of his condition, and as much as Harry might enjoy making Malfoy squirm, he didn't want to be involved in the squirming himself. He spent the next week of classes in a bit of a fog -- Hermione didn't even mind when he asked to copy her notes at the end of the day -- and at night he and Ron helped her pore through every book they could find that cross-referenced the Imprevius spell, its causes, and its effects.

He couldn't even enjoy participating in the Quidditch tryouts, and that, to Harry, was a tragedy. He found himself watching for any absence of Malfoy from class - if he showed up late it was cause for relief - or the Great Hall for meals. Harry even began to hope he'd continue to see Malfoy loitering on the grounds with Crabbe and Goyle, taunting Harry and his friends as they walked by. Only Malfoy didn't even seem to taunt anyone much these days.

So when McGonagall approached Harry one day on his way to the common room, her hands folded primly within her robes, Harry's hopes were dashed. "Mr. Potter," she said, her voice very grave, "I'd like you to come with me to my office, please."

Harry forced himself not to look back at Hermione or Ron, knowing their faces would mirror the horror on his own, and simply nodded. The look on McGonagall's face alone told Harry he didn't need to ask what the summons was about. He wouldn't have been able to ask at any rate, as the sheer effort of keeping in stride with McGonagall soon had his breath catching in his throat. At least it helped to keep his mind off of sense of rising dread.

McGonagall swept into her office with a dignified flourish of robes, and Harry stopped short immediately after following her in. He swallowed hard as he took in the rest of the room's occupants: Snape stood rigidly by McGonagall's desk, hands folded behind his back, and next to him was Malfoy. The young Slytherin's face bore the slightly pink tinge Harry had seen on him earlier, and Malfoy's eyes met Harry's for a moment before returning to a point straight ahead of him. The rage on the end of Malfoy's glare was palpable, but there was something else to the tightness of his face and the set of his mouth that Harry recognized in himself. He knew the look of mortification when he saw it.

"Do you know why I've called you here, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall began, taking her place behind her desk and looking most officious. She straightened her glasses and peered at him over them.

Harry nodded. "I..." his voice came out as a croak and he had to clear his throat before trying again. "I think so, Professor."

"It seems," McGonagall said, looking down at some parchments before her, "that a very serious charge has been brought against you." 

Harry nodded again, no longer trusting himself to speak.

"Professor Snape came to me earlier with disturbing news of an attack on Mr. Malfoy here. It seems he has reason to believe you cast the Imprevius spell on Draco."

"Enough pleasantries!" Snape strode forward and Harry winced. He was not afraid of the Head of Slytherin house, but he had the feeling he was going to pay dearly for this, if Snape had his say. "Potter maliciously cast Imprevius on my student and I demand to see him punished accordingly!"

"Please, Severus," McGonagall said sternly, turning the full force of her gaze on Harry. "Let Mr. Potter explain his side of the story before we determine a course of action." She arched an expectant eyebrow at him. "Go on, Harry."

"It was a mistake, Professor," Harry blurted before he could stop himself. "I'd never even heard of the spell until afterwards when-- well, when Malfoy started acting weird and Hermione looked it up. I-- we duel all the time, Professor, and I just. I guess I didn't remember the right spell correctly, and I mispronounced, and it." Harry sighed and thought it better to stop talking after all, while he didn't have a year's worth of detentions.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, "do you mean to say you did not intend to cast Imprevius on Mr. Malfoy?"

"Professor, I swear it," Harry said earnestly.

"He's lying!" Snape jabbed a finger at Harry angrily. "Potter would stop at nothing to humiliate and degrade those he opposes, including _lying_ about it after the fact--"

"I am _not_ lying," Harry said hotly.

"Excuse me," Malfoy spoke up. "If everyone could please stop discussing this as if I'm not here?"

McGonagall blinked behind her glasses, as if she had just noticed him. "Of course, Mr. Malfoy," she said. "I must thank you for your brave testimony. This could not have been easy for you." Turning to Harry, the stern mask slid back into place. "I assume you realize the severity of your actions, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, and I'm _really_ sorry, Professor."

"Yes, well, I'm sure you won't be surprised by the deduction of two hundred points from Gryffindor--"

"Three hundred!" Snape argued, and Harry knew, with a horrified glance at McGonagall, that Snape had made it stick. Snape made a disgusted sound. "A slap on the wrist, if that," he muttered. Malfoy's eyes merely narrowed.

"And," McGonagall continued, "in lieu of detention I am assigning to you, Mr. Potter, the wardship of Mr. Malfoy for the duration of his pregnancy."

At this, Malfoy looked horrified. "Why am _I_ being punished for this?" he asked, indignant. "It's _his_ fault!" while Snape said, "... hardly an acceptable punishment to suit the offense...." and Harry muttered, "I'm supposed to look _after_ him?" He rather wished he'd gotten the year's worth of detentions instead. At least, he thought, he would still be able to play Quidditch.

McGonagall didn't respond. "The two of you," she went on, "will see Professor Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey for counselling. They will be able to present to you all options on how you may proceed."

"Well, that's kind of... well, we were hoping," Harry said, "you might... know something about the spell that Hermione couldn't find out."

"Oh, I very much doubt that is the case," McGonagall said, rising to her feet. "While I am prepared to offer Miss Granger any assistance in the matter, there is no known counter-spell for Imprevius, Mr. Potter. Never in the wizarding world has anyone wished to rid themselves of a pregnancy they went to these lengths to conceive." She inclined her head to Malfoy. "I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy."

Malfoy's expression did not change with the revelation of this information. He continued to shoot daggers at Harry as if McGonagall had not spoken, and Harry found he could barely summon a scowl in return.

McGonagall gestured to the door. "You're free to go, Mr. Potter."

~*~

"Well?" Ron and Hermione were waiting for Harry when he got out of McGonagall's office. "How bad is it?"

"Snape took three hundred points," Harry began, as they made their way back to the common room. His friends exchanged horrified glances.

"Three _hundred_!" Ron exclaimed. "We haven't even got three hundred points yet, have we?"

Harry shook his head miserably. "And I'm supposed to -- I don't know -- look after Malfoy. Take care of him, be his ward or something." He frowned. "I wish they'd just expelled me and been done with it."

"Well," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I suppose it's fair; after all, it's your baby, too."

"For the hundredth time, Hermione," Harry forced out from behind clenched teeth, "it was an _accident_!"

"Oh, and I suppose you're the first person who's made someone pregnant by accident?" Hermione asked. "At least be thankful you're not the one who's going to have to get fat and wobbly and go through childbirth."

"What," Ron turned to her, "we're supposed to feel sorry for Malfoy, now? Or have you forgotten -- he probably wouldn't want your help anyway, not with the way he thinks of you."

Hermione stopped walking and looked up at Ron grimly when he stopped as well. "I know," she sighed. "But I wouldn't exactly want to be a pregnant teenager at Hogwarts when there's a war going on, either."

"Potter!"

The trio turned in the direction of the voice to see Malfoy slow from a jog to a comfortable stride, a few yards away from them. If he felt uncomfortable addressing Harry with Ron and Hermione there, he didn't show it. He merely handed Harry a slip of folded paper and nodded in his direction. "Pomfrey wants to see us at eight tomorrow. Told me to give you that." His message delivered, Malfoy let his gaze flicker over Harry's friends disapprovingly, then spun on his heel and stalked away, graceful and with purpose.

Harry imagined that regal gait turning into a pregnant waddle and reluctantly bit back a grin.

~*~

When Harry arrived at the hospital wing the next morning, Malfoy was already waiting for him. "You're late," Malfoy said irritably.

"I am not," Harry retorted, and knew he was right; he had just checked the clock in the courtyard on his way in, and he had had several minutes to spare. "Listen, Malfoy," he said, in case he wouldn't get a chance later, "I'm sorry I buggered up the hex, all right? Especially since all I wanted to do was shut your mouth and believe me, that would be really nice right about now. But stop acting like I did this on purpose. We both knew we were aiming to injure back there, it's just that I--"

"It's just that you went off casting spells when you're _completely_ incompetent," Malfoy snapped at him fiercely, "and this is what you've landed us in. I really wish you'd just killed me, Potter - it would save my father and myself the trouble."

"Your father's in Azkaban, so he can't do a thing about it," Harry snapped, and the lines around Malfoy's mouth tightened.

"There are plenty of others," Malfoy hissed, "who would be glad to carry out my father's wishes, you know."

"As if my friends would be any happier about it," Harry said sullenly, thinking of what the Weasleys and Remus would say when they found out. He fought the urge to add that at least Malfoy _had_ family that could disapprove of the pregnancy. The Dursleys, if they ever even found out, couldn't possibly care less. Sirius... Sirius would have had a fit. Harry was almost relieved that he wouldn't have to break the news to his late godfather, but at the same time, it made him miss Sirius all the more. Sirius would know what to do, what to say, would be angry right along with Harry, for Harry's sake.

"Riiight," Malfoy drawled, arching an eyebrow. "Tell me, Potter: how many members of your family can cast Avada Kedavra?"

A chill went down Harry's spine at that: the thought of a family of Death Eaters and sympathizers all willing and able to kill at the smallest step out of line. _Well_ , he thought, _it takes one to know one_. And it wasn't as though Voldemort himself was after Malfoy's head. "At any rate," Harry said, "they'll be coming after _me_ , anyway, for doing this to you. You and your precious reputation don't have anything to worry about."

"You just don't get it, do you," Malfoy said coldly. He drew himself up to his full height, which was about an inch shorter than Harry. "I'm _soiled goods_ now, Potter. I'm carrying the same half-blood filth that the Dark Lord is working right now to destroy. And not just any half-blood filth, but _Harry Potter's_ half-blood filth. So unless Granger can come up with some sort of magical miracle in six weeks or less, I assure you, Potter, saving my reputation is going to be the _least_ of my worries."

"Gentlemen?" Madame Pomfrey poked her head out from between the great doors leading into the infirmary before Harry could reply. "We need to discuss a few things, if you'll just step inside."

When they'd all been seated, Pomfrey turned to Malfoy. "Draco." She regarded him like he'd become ill with something fatal. "Have you had any time to think about what you want to do about your condition?"

"Well, yes, and naturally I want to be rid of it," Malfoy said matter-of-factly, leaning back in his chair. Harry watched him in amazement. He wanted to be rid of the problem as well, but the way Malfoy had put it had seemed so... cold. It was as if the passion for the subject that Malfoy had expressed earlier had been an anomaly.

Madame Pomfrey inclined her head sadly. "Now, I'm sure you know that's nearly imposs--"

"What I know," Malfoy emphasized, "is that there's no magical reversal for the Imprevius spell; I understand that. But I also know that there are... potions. Incantations, abortificants. Things you can do to... end pregnancies. That's what I'm interested in. I've already done some reading on the subject, you know."

"I don't have any say in this, do I," Harry suddenly realized. He looked between Pomfrey and Malfoy.

"Of course not!" Draco said sharply, at the same time Pomfrey said, "we're just exploring the options at this stage, Harry."

Turning back to Malfoy, Pomfrey added, "yes, there are various methods of abortificants available to witches; however, due to the particular circumstances of your pregnancy--"

Malfoy came dangerously close to scowling.

"--there is no way to predict how those potions or spells might affect you or the pregnancy, Draco. Never has Imprevius been cast on a man, so it was unexpected that you should have successfully become pregnant in the first place. Using an abortificant intended for non-magical pregnancies could cause all sorts of complications, like hemorrhaging, paralysis, stroke, shock--"

"Death?" Harry asked.

"--Death, yes," Pomfrey said.

"What if I'm willing to take that chance?" Malfoy asked.

"This isn't worth dying over, Malfoy," Harry cried.

"I'll end up dying either way," Malfoy said loudly.

"Boys!" Madame Pomfrey clapped her hands to draw their attention. "Furthermore," she went on, "you would still be left with the female sex characteristics, which, I remind you, doctors have not managed to successfully transfigure into male sex organs on any consistent basis. And should a counter-spell for Imprevius be discovered in the future, the absence of an embryo could very well render the spell ineffective."

Her face softened. "You could," she offered gently, "consider having the child--"

"No," Malfoy said immediately, and Harry shook his head in agreement. Pomfrey hadn't looked at him once during this exchange, and now he cleared his throat uneasily.

"Um," he said, "whatever he decides is probably. I mean, it should really be up to him, right?" he asked, relinquishing control he wasn't sure he'd ever had.

She looked sympathetically between them. "There are other options, of course," she said, "but perhaps you should see Professor Dumbledore before you consider any course of action any further." She hastily sealed two slips of paper and handed them to each of them. "See him now," she urged them. "I'll be here for any questions when you return."

"Would you really rather die over this?" Harry asked softly on the way to Dumbledore's office.

Malfoy scoffed. "It's hardly a goal of mine," he said, "not to mention the fact that dying whilst having an abortion would defeat the whole purpose of keeping the--" Malfoy pressed his lips together-- "--this whole thing - a secret."

"Either way, you're disgraced," Harry murmured in understanding.

"I'd rather be disgraced alive than disgraced dead," Malfoy agreed, a bit of morbidity in his tone. "But I'd also rather die on my own terms than on the end of somebody's wand."

"Maybe Hermione will come up with something before this all becomes an issue," Harry said. His strides and Malfoy's were matched evenly, but they were gradually speeding up in synch and he could feel his breaths coming with more effort.

"Yes, well," Malfoy said, "I'd rather not rest my future on the well-worked hands of your Mudblood, if it's all the same to you."

Harry stopped short, finally allowing himself the freedom to pant. He ached to reach for his wand, but common sense stayed his hands this time. "She's doing this for you, you know," he said, forcing himself to keep his voice low. It came out rather dark and menacing, and he liked it, the way it felt in his throat; coiled and ready to kill.

"Oh, _naturally_!" Malfoy said sarcastically, turning to face Harry. He was only a metre away, but spoke a bit too loudly for the distance. "Out of the goodness of her heart, I'm sure, and nothing at all to do with protecting Saint Potter's spotless record!"

"She stood up for you," Harry shouted, "though I can't imagine why!" At the flicker of surprise in Malfoy's eyes, Harry nodded. "Oh, _yeah_ ," he added, in exaggerated tones. "She seems to think you'll have a hard time of it. She even felt _sorry_ for you--" Malfoy recoiled, and too late, Harry realized it was the wrong thing to say.

"Tell her I don't need her pity," Malfoy spat, "and tell her to worry about _your_ reputation and leave mine alone." He strode off again at that, and Harry cursed himself for having to run to catch up.

~*~

"Ah, yes, gentlemen, I've been expecting you," Dumbledore said when they arrived, rather more cheerfully than the situation called for. He gestured to the chairs before his desk. "Please do have a seat."

"Madame Pomfrey told us we needed to see you, sir," Harry said, as he sat.

"I'm not really sure what for," Malfoy said from his chair. "I've already made my decision, there's just the question of how to make it happen."

"Of course," Dumbledore nodded at them. "You will have decided to terminate the pregnancy, I presume?"

"As soon as possible," Malfoy said. Once again, Harry felt like an unnecessary presence in the room.

"And Madame Pomfrey has advised you about the risks in undertaking such a procedure?"

"I'm well aware," Malfoy said tightly, "of the risks of this news reaching my family and the Ministry of Magic, Professor Dumbledore."

"You could be in grave danger, yes," Dumbledore agreed. "The Malfoys would not be pleased by this turn of events. I expect they would place the blame on you, Harry."

Scrutinized by Dumbledore for the first time since they'd entered the room, Harry felt rather like a specimen under a microscope. He had never been so unnerved by Dumbledore's kindly blue eyes before. He wasn't sure what to say - he'd wanted to scream _"fix it!"_ to everyone he'd encountered since the whole mess had unfolded - but Dumbledore was not finished speaking. "Were you aware, Draco," Dumbledore said, returning his gaze to Malfoy, "that abortion can be a surgical procedure as well as a magical one?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "You mean Muggle surgery," he said, his voice flat.

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, I do. The procedure would have the advantage of not discriminating between a pregnancy caused by either magical or non-magical means. It is invasive, but effective, and would pose far less of a risk than even the most judicious use of a potion."

"Except that it's _barbaric_ ," Malfoy exclaimed, rising to his feet. Harry wondered if Malfoy's face would retain that perpetual shade of pinkness, if that was a side effect of the pregnancy or something else entirely. "Their hands on me," Malfoy went on, grimacing, "doing all sorts of things I-- Professor, sir, with all respect, surely you can't be serious." It hadn't occurred to Harry that Malfoy's aversion to all things Muggle might actually cost him his only possible solution. To Harry it seemed a perfectly reasonable suggestion, despite the fact that the question of Malfoy's gender might be a cause of speculation by any Muggle doctors who examined him.

Dumbledore spread his hands out in a show of surrender. "It was an option Madame Pomfrey was unwilling to discuss," he explained. "I merely wanted you to be informed that it was a possibility. Here at Hogwarts," he added sadly, "I'm afraid we cannot put your life at serious risk when there is a safer option to consider."

Malfoy slumped back down into his chair. "With the Dark Lord risen to power, this could hardly be a safer--"

"Hogwarts is the safest refuge one could hope for," Dumbledore assured him. "If you desire to stay here for the duration--"

"Sir, my family will want to see me," Malfoy said, "at Christmas, and--"

"You can forego the holiday journey, and arrangements can be made for you in the dormitories--"

"But sir," Malfoy interrupted once again, and Harry did not miss the pleading tone in his voice. "Once the news gets out, I'll never be able to return home again! You can't even protect _Potter_ forever, so how can I expect you to protect _me_?"

"The both of you come from very powerful and respectful lineages," Dumbledore began, "and your parents shared an impressive history, if on opposing sides of the first war with Voldemort." He steepled his hands in front of his face. "It could very well be," he said, "that a child combining your respective families' traits would be a great treasure to those charged with its care."

Harry let a breath out as realization swept over him. "This baby is a weapon," he guessed.

"Not a weapon," Dumbledore corrected him. "But... perhaps a tool that some would use as leverage for their own sides. Imagine the strength that could be gained if both of you should be recruited for the same side of the battle! This child could be a deciding factor in that struggle."

And if Malfoy were carrying the child, Harry thought in dismay, they were doomed. Malfoy, who didn't have the Dark Mark tattooed on his arm yet but might as well have, would never fight to support Dumbledore against Voldemort. Tom Riddle had managed to remove the half-blood stigma from his own lineage in order to transform himself; Harry was sure that Draco Malfoy would not be above doing the same to this child. "Is there any way we can make sure it doesn't come to that?" he asked.

"I'm afraid that lies almost entirely up to the two of you." Dumbledore regarded them both with grandfatherly sympathy. "And that, Draco," he continued, strangely directing his words to Harry, though he was addressing Malfoy, "is why you will have some very difficult decisions to make in the coming weeks. I wish you clarity of mind and courage. I do not envy the choices you have before you."

Malfoy didn't say anything to Harry as they made their way back from Dumbledore's office. It was lunchtime, and Harry was starving, but the last thing he wanted was to have to act as if nothing had happened while he ate in the Great Hall. He hoped Hermione and Ron had managed to nick some food for him in the common room.

Finally the silence became too great. "Malfoy, okay, I'm really sor--" he started, because he didn't know what else he could say.

"Stop," Malfoy said shortly, shooting him a bitter glance. "Just. stop, all right? Stop apologizing; it's making me sick. Honestly."

"Maybe it's," Harry pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Maybe it's, you know. morning sickness, or something."

"No," Malfoy sighed, "no, I'm pretty sure it's you."

How was he supposed to help Malfoy if it was going to be like this for the rest of the school year? "Fine," he conceded, grateful that they'd reached the Gryffindor wing already. "I guess I'll see you," he muttered, and turned off without looking behind him for Malfoy's reaction.

~*~

Fortunately Ron and Hermione had saved Harry some food after all, and Harry ate while he filled them in on what had happened with Pomfrey and Dumbledore. He left out some details, such as Malfoy's initial insistence on taking the mortal risks associated with a magical abortion. For some reason, Harry felt that was information no one needed to be privy to. Meanwhile, Hermione shared with Harry their findings on the Imprevius spell. Ron had even looked for information along with Hermione; Harry felt warmed by their show of support, all things considered.

"Wow," Ron had said right away, when Harry had finished speaking. "I'd never thought of it that way, that the baby could be a factor in the war or anything. That could be really dangerous, Harry - what if He-- V-- Voldemort finds out about this?"

"And he will eventually, that's the thing," Harry said, rubbing his eyes.

"What's interesting to me," Hermione said, "is that Pomfrey would say Imprevius had never been cast on a man. We happened to find a case - a single case, mind you - in the 1980s, of a man named Marty Chesna who had his male lover cast Imprevius on him. I'd imagine it's an obscure case, though -- hardly anybody's written about it."

"Well, how did it turn out?" Harry asked. "Why did he do it? He was okay afterwards, right?"

"Oh, yes," Hermione nodded. "He cast the spell because, he wrote, he wanted the experience of having a child of his own, which nothing else could give him. And he was fine! In fact, after the birth - look at this - it says _'all physical changes caused by the spell restored themselves at once'_."

Harry felt a grin start to spread over his face. "So... you mean, it undoes itself?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Ron nodded, meeting Harry's grin with a wide smile of his own.

This, Harry thought, was the best news he'd heard all day. "Thanks, guys," he said, a little breathless with excitement. "Can I take one of these with me?" he asked, indicating the books spread out on the table between them. "Great," he added, gathering the books in his arms without waiting for an answer.

"Wait," Hermione cried. "I haven't given you the notes you missed for Transfiguration yet!"

"I'll get them later," Harry called over his shoulder as he made his way up the stairs to the boys' dormitory. "Thanks for the food as well!" He couldn't wait to tell Malfoy about this in the morning. He wasn't sure if it would naturally follow that an early delivery might yield the same results, but he couldn't help but wonder if Malfoy might reconsider going to Muggles for help if he thought it would solve both of his problems in one fell swoop.

~*~

"Hey, I have a question: how is it," Dean asked of no one in particular, "that Gryffindor has negative points already and we haven't even been at Hogwarts a month yet?" He paused in pulling back his covers to deliver pointed stares at the other inhabitants of the dorm; Ron and Harry exchanged glances, and Seamus shrugged.

"I reckon it's because of the duel we had with Malfoy back on the Hogwarts Express," Neville suggested, casting a sideways glance at Ron and Harry. "D'you suppose Malfoy said anything?"

"I _promise_ you Malfoy said something," Harry admitted, climbing into bed himself. "Listen, guys, I'm not sorry for what we did - that lot had it coming to them- but I'm sorry we had to have points deducted for it. We'll make it back over the term; you'll see."

"Well, if you could just be more grown-up about it," Seamus said. "It isn't as if we're a bunch of first-years running around with no clue about anything anymore! We've got to start acting our age already."

Harry thought this was quite rich coming from the boy who had practically attacked him within this very dorm a year earlier. "And what brought all this on?" he wondered.

Seamus suddenly looked embarrassed. "Well, if it weren't for You-Know-Who returning and all, I probably wouldn't even have come back to Hogwarts this year," he admitted. "My mum's never thought I needed to stay on after writing my OWLs, so." He shrugged. "It's more for the protection, really, why I'm here."

They were all turning into adults, Harry realized, and faster than he was prepared for it. A war on the horizon, students ready to leave school, and he might be a father. He rather wished he was back in first year, when his biggest problem was learning Potions with Snape, and Voldemort was no more than a face on the back of Quirrell's head.

"Well, you're definitely safer here," Dean told Seamus.

Ron nodded, avoiding Harry's gaze. "And we're glad to have you back anyway, Seamus," he added.

Harry took off his glasses and lay down, trying not to think about impending battles and babies that could be used as tools for the enemy's advantage. He sincerely hoped Malfoy would reconsider his options.

~*~

Malfoy wasn't in the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning. Ron had to nudge Harry several times to keep him from craning his neck too obviously over the rows of students to see if Malfoy had been hidden in some nook or cranny, between Crabbe's and Goyle's massive forms, or lurking about in the corners. But they ate and checked their class schedules for the day, and still Malfoy hadn't appeared.

"Do you suppose he's sick already?" Hermione asked Harry as they got up to leave. They had Charms next, but were running ahead of schedule, and Harry was already planning to stop by the hospital wing and see if Malfoy had checked in before going to class.

"Dunno," he said in response. He had to admit, he felt a sort of smug satisfaction at the thought of Malfoy suffering from some uncomfortable but mostly harmless morning sickness - especially after the way he'd rebuffed all of Harry's attempts to help him the day before.

"It might serve him a bit right, being sick for a while," Ron suggested, voicing Harry's thoughts exactly. "You're coming to class with us, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "Just let me check with Madame Pomfrey first." He made an apologetic face. "Him being my ward and all, you know."

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. "Right, of course," Ron said.

Madame Pomfrey insisted that Malfoy had not stopped by to see her, and then made Harry promise to make sure Malfoy would come for help if necessary - as if he had any sway over that, Harry scoffed. Malfoy wasn't at their Potions lesson, either, and considering that Harry was already on Snape's bad side for the year, he didn't want to risk a scene by asking about it.

It turned out that Malfoy was in the library, which Harry only visited after prowling around the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons for a bit, trying to catch any snippets of gossip to see if the news had leaked. "Are you feeling all right?" Harry asked Malfoy when he spotted him, pulling out the chair across the table. Malfoy's head was bent over a thin book with small type, but his left hand rested atop a much more impressive stack of books. Harry could only assume they had to do with the pregnancy; Malfoy was attempting to conceal the contents with his palm.

"Oh, I'm just _fine_ ," Malfoy said drily. "Now that there's nothing left in my stomach to bring back up, I'd say baby and I are getting along splendidly."

"We _thought_ you might have morning sickness," Harry admitted.

"Been discussing me all morning, have you?" Malfoy turned the page in his book rather aggressively. "I suppose I should get used to that."

"You'd never miss Potions if it weren't serious, Malfoy," Harry pointed out. He gestured to the pile of books under Malfoy's hand. "Any remedies in there? Maybe I can help."

Malfoy pushed them in Harry's direction. "Wouldn't you know-- magical remedies don't work on magical pregnancies. Everything they suggest is _Muggle_. Muggle _everything_." Malfoy made a disgusted face, but his face was pale and it only served to make him look like he was going to be ill. Harry could see the title on the topmost book now - _When Baby Drives You Mad: A Pregnancy Guide for the Working Witch_.

He figured this was as good a time as any to tell Malfoy about Marty Chesna and the reversal of Imprevius, so he explained as quickly as he could, adding, "so maybe it could work for you, if you reconsidered on the Muggle thing--"

"No," Malfoy said firmly, meeting Harry's gaze for a moment before looking back down at his book. "I'm not having some Muggle doctor prodding and poking at me, using those... those instruments they use, and-- and asking questions about things that don't concern them."

"Suit yourself," Harry said, trying to keep his voice low; he didn't bother to hide his disappointment, as that was obvious enough. "In that case, I suppose you'd rather be ill every morning than use a Muggle remedy for that as well? I'm trying to help you here, Malfoy!"

"You were _assigned_ to help me," Malfoy reminded him, "but you don't need to play the Gryffindor hero around me. I relieve you," he waved his hand. "Go... play with some great deadly beast out in the Forbidden Forest, or whatever it is you do."

Harry grabbed one of the books from Malfoy's stack to keep himself from answering the challenge, and flipped the cover open. _Muggle Remedies for Magical Ailments_ , whined the title, with a disclaimer that read, _"the editors claim no responsibility for any loss of life or limb that may result from following the foolhardy recipes contained within." Nice_ , Harry thought, and skipped to the middle of the book, reading silently.

After a moment, he turned the book around so that it was facing Malfoy, and stood. "Here," he said, pointing to the left page. "It says if you drink plain tea and eat a few salted crackers before you get up in the morning, it might help with the nausea. Thought maybe you could try that."

When Malfoy continued to watch him dubiously, Harry rolled his eyes. "Contrary to what you may believe about me, Malfoy," he said from between clenched teeth, "I don't exactly fancy the thought of seeing you miserably ill for the next three months."

Malfoy looked at the page where Harry's finger was pointing, and read a few lines, his mouth firmly set. He blinked carefully a couple of times before opening his mouth to speak. "Thanks," he said quietly, still staring at the page.

Harry sighed, grateful for small mercies. "You're welcome," he whispered, and withdrew his hand. "See you later," he added, leaving the library empty-handed and with an empty stomach as well.

~*~

Malfoy was not at breakfast the next morning, either, but Harry received a letter from a gray Hogwarts owl that said, _"The crackers helped. Don't skulk around today; am all right, but don't want to be seen with you, thanks. --M"_

"Fine way to show appreciation," Ron muttered, when Harry showed the letter to him and Hermione. Hermione made a startled sound and jumped up from the table, dabbing her mouth with her napkin as she did.

"That reminds me," she said, "I'm still looking into the counter-spell. You'll still need my help with that, won't you, Harry?"

Harry nodded, wide-eyed at her enthusiasm. If Malfoy thought Hermione wasn't putting out an effort for his sake, he was sadly mistaken; Hermione hadn't even paid as much attention to promoting The Society for the Protection of Elvish Welfare this year as she usually did. "Yeah, sure," Harry said. "Do you need anything, I can--"

"No," she said. "It's all right-- you've got enough to worry about. Ron?"

Ron scowled, but was already gathering his things from the table. "Why, of course I'll help you, Hermione," he said sarcastically, coming round to join her. "It's not like I've got anything better to do."

In a way, Harry was happy to not have to help with the research, especially since he'd taken a hefty stack of books from the library meeting with Malfoy in addition to the ones he'd borrowed from Hermione earlier. He climbed wearily into the Gryffindor portrait-hole and went right up to the dorms, and the comfort of his bed.

He had just finished reading about the first trimester of pregnancy - as close as he could figure it, Malfoy was six weeks to two months along - when he remembered that he hadn't told anyone outside of Hogwarts about this yet. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley... Remus.... Harry buried his face in his hands. He didn't know how he'd even begin to write those letters. He got out his quill and inkpot and sighed, trying to think of a way to word his dilemma without tipping off outside observers in case his letters were intercepted. He'd just have to wing it and see what happened, he supposed, but he wasn't looking forward to the responses he suspected he'd get.

~*~

 _Dear Mr. and Mrs. Weasley,_

_Hope all is well with you. We all miss you here, of course, and wish we could hear from you more often. I suppose that means nothing interesting's going on down there._

_I thought I would send you a letter because I have some news you might like to know. Has Ron told you about his favourite ferret? The white one, that bounces? It's a great story, I think you should ask him all about it._

_Well anyway, the news is I sort of accidentally cast a spell on it, and now it's going to have a baby._

_I realize this may come as a surprise to you, and that none of us can really afford to have extra ferrets around. But, we're working really hard on fixing it so that there's nothing to worry about. I just wanted to let you know what happened._

_Sincerely,  
Harry_

~*~

The next several days passed in a blur. Malfoy continued to miss breakfast, but showed up to most of his lessons, so Harry assumed he was all right on that front. Harry was, in fact, rather proud of himself for having discovered a solution for morning sickness that seemed to work so well. In between class and Quidditch practice, he barely had time to worry about Malfoy's condition anyway.

Both Mrs. Weasley and Remus sent replies to Harry's letters, as ambiguously worded as his had been in case of possible interception. He was grateful that the secrecy required meant that he wouldn't be receiving any howlers. Still, the palpable tone of disappointment in both letters sort of made Harry want to cry. He was glad, for the first time, that his parents wouldn't know what was happening in his life.

At least Remus had written that he thought Harry was showing maturity by owning up to his responsibilities. Harry wasn't sure how much of that could be credited to his own doing, but the sentiment did make him feel a bit better. He sincerely hoped he was doing the right thing.

~*~

Things went all right until Malfoy transfigured his cauldron into a lion one morning in Potions.

Snape had left detailed instructions on the board as usual, and was walking slowly around the dungeon, surveying the students' work. Harry had just cut off the frog's toes, which were supposed to be added to the mix in the cauldron after exactly one minute and forty-five seconds of brewing. Ron sneezed due to the eucalyptus powder on the desks; a few of the toes scattered; Harry lunged to save what he could before Snape could see what had happened; and when Harry looked up again, the class's attention was on the giant lion standing in the corner of the room. The lion surveyed them all regally and flicked its tail in annoyance.

"Class," Snape said carefully, from his position at the back of the room. "Does anyone care to take responsibility for this?"

"I believe that was me, sir," came Malfoy's voice from two desks ahead. Harry dropped his head in dismay. Of all of the side-effects of magical pregnancy Harry had read about, Thought Manifestation was one of the ones Harry had hoped Malfoy wouldn't develop.

"I see," Snape nodded, and calmly transfigured the lion back. "Mr. Malfoy, you are excused from the lesson," he said. _Please don't call on me, please don't call on me,_ Harry thought. "Mr. Potter, if you could see Mr. Malfoy to his dormitory?"

"Sir?" Malfoy dropped his bag back on his desk and looked up at Snape quizzically. Beside him, Crabbe exchanged confused looks with Goyle.

"I see that Potter's brew is already the most woefully lacking," Snape observed cruelly. He waved a hand and Harry's cauldron emptied itself of its contents. "That should take care of it," he murmured. When Harry gaped at him, Snape arched an eyebrow. "While we are _young_ , Potter?"

"Yes, sir," Harry -- who wasn't any happier about it than Malfoy -- muttered, and dropped his frog's toes back onto the table.

Snape strode purposefully to the front of the room and looked around. "Well?" he asked coldly. "The rest of you have _not_ been excused. You may continue."

Once they'd left the classroom, Malfoy started hurriedly for the dormitories, and Harry had to jog to keep up. "Wait, wait," he said, trying to catch Malfoy by the shoulder. "What was that all about--?"

"In here," Malfoy hissed, and rounded the corner to the lavatory on the way. Once inside, he leaned back against the divider by the first stall and closed his eyes, taking a gulping breath.

Harry made a quick check underneath the stalls for feet and found none. "It's all clear," he said.

"Good," Malfoy said, breathing deeply, "because I'm going to be sick." And he stepped into the stall behind him and proceeded to do just that.

"I thought you said the crackers worked!" Harry accused him, when Malfoy had finished and sat on the floor in front of the stall divider.

"Well, a few crackers and a cup of tea can't solve all problems, can they," Malfoy shrugged, tilting his head back. "I wish you hadn't seen that," he said softly, after a moment.

So did Harry. "You have to see Madame Pomfrey," he insisted. With Malfoy's head turned up to the light, Harry could see the sick flush in his cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes. "Have you even been sleeping?"

Malfoy shook his head. "I _have_ been to see Pomfrey," he said. "No magical remedies for magical pregnancies, remember? There's nothing she can do; I'll just have to wait it out, I suppose." A line appeared between his fine eyebrows as he frowned.

Harry sighed and turned on the taps behind him to wet a paper towel with cold water. Once he'd wrung it damp, he handed it to Malfoy, who wordlessly smoothed it out and pressed it to his forehead. "Well, there has to be another way to make you feel better," he told Malfoy. "Something better than just waiting for it to go away-- and anyway," he remembered suddenly, "what was that all about, in Potions?"

"Oh, _that_ ," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. "I was feeling ill, as I so often do these days, and mentally counting the number of ways I want to hex you into oblivion, and the next moment my cauldron was gone and the lion was there instead." He took a deep breath and swallowed.

"That happens sometimes," Harry told him, "to pregnant witches. It's called Thought Manifestation. You should be able to avoid it, you know, if you just learn to control your temper. It could be really dangerous, otherwise."

"Wonderful," Malfoy said, gulping again. "Good to know. Could you-- could you leave now, then?"

He really did look awfully ill. "All right," Harry agreed, and fled.

~*~

Slytherin beat Gryffindor in the first Quidditch match of the season, and Malfoy was furious. When Harry held out his hand for a shake and said, "good match," Malfoy snarled,

"What the _fuck_ was that about?" and transfigured a bludger into a cannonball. Madame Hooch had had to come sprinting across the field in record time to transfigure it back into something less immediately fatal. Harry just sighed and withdrew his hand. It was going to be one of those days.

He hadn't _meant_ to lose the snitch for only the second time in his Quidditch career. The snitch had been in his sights, only inches away from his outstretched fingers, and Malfoy had come up alongside him on his broom, single-mindedly focused on the tiny winged ball. A sideways glance - that was all it took - and it seemed that Malfoy wobbled, ever so slightly, as he leaned up and forward in his efforts.

Harry thought, _no_ , and maybe said the word into the wind as well, and the instant cost him dearly. One triumphant cheer of the crowd later - wrong side, Slytherin side - and Malfoy was holding the snitch in a fist above his head, but watching Harry with a bemused expression on his face.

After that, Malfoy had just gotten angry.

"It was an accident," Harry whispered, running to catch up with Malfoy as they made their way back to change. The other members of their teams had long gone ahead. "I'm-- why are you mad at me this time?"

"You seem to have an awful lot of accidents, don't you," Malfoy shot back over his shoulder. "Is that what you call throwing a match these days?"

"I didn't throw it," Harry insisted. "But I was-- it made me wonder," he lowered his voice further, "if, you know, you thought you should still play, considering." He swallowed and glanced around. "I mean, it's really dangerous, and--"

"Potter," Malfoy's lip was curled when he turned to face Harry. "If I thought flying around on a broom was a sure-fire way to end this pregnancy, I'd make it a full-time hobby. Besides," he added, "I'm hardly breakable, all right?" His face screwed up in frustration. "Don't ever do that again."

"Don't worry, I won't," Harry muttered snidely to Malfoy's retreating back. _Congratulations_ , he thought resentfully, gripping his broom tightly as he crossed the grounds himself.

That was when the rumours began.

~*~

Harry was willing to admit he might have been a bit too single-minded to notice if entire clusters of Slytherin students were staring at him in the halls, especially after five years of that kind of treatment. What was new, though, were the snogging noises that several of the fifth- and sixth-year girls were starting to make as he walked by. Pansy Parkinson actually blew him a kiss.

"What is she on about," he asked Ron, bewildered, on the way to the library to see Hermione. "Do you know?"

"I'm not sure exactly," Ron told him, his voice low. "But I think it has to do with the last Quidditch match." He looked around them and didn't continue on until they were well out of earshot of the Slytherins. "It wasn't like you at all, you know that," Ron said, "losing sight of the snitch and everything. Luna says the Ravenclaws all think it was a love potion or something, and the Hufflepuffs think it's romantic, but you can guess the Slytherins'll make the biggest deal of it."

"Wait," Harry frowned, reaching up and pulling Ron into a corner by the neck of his jumper. " _Love_ potion? _Who_ thinks it's romantic?" he demanded, then shook his head. "No, never mind all that. So you mean... people think Malfoy and I are shagging or something?"

Ron grimaced and nodded, extracting his jumper from Harry's fist. "Looks that way," he admitted. "I've been telling them they're mental when they ask me," he insisted, "but not everybody asks."

Harry sighed and whacked his head against the wall behind him a few times. "We'd better hurry," he muttered, starting to walk again. "The sooner Hermione finds a way to sort this out, the better. But wait," he paused. "What do the Gryffindors think of all this?"

"Well," Ron began uneasily, "I think it's best you weren't around the common room right after the match -- everyone was really glum after that. But now, Harry," Ron told him, fondly placing a large hand on top of Harry's head, "we just think you're mad."

~*~

Harry stayed up with Ron and Hermione until well after midnight at the library, helping with the research. This consisted mainly of fetching Hermione books when she asked for them, and watching her make lists of ingredients she thought they might need. Still, it made him feel he was doing his part. By the time morning arrived, Harry had only had a few hours of sleep. He dragged himself wearily into the Great Hall for breakfast, barely summoning the energy to offer obscene gestures to the kissy-noise Slytherins.

With the mail, he received his usual Muggle newspapers, a complimentary issue of the _Quibbler_ Luna had been after him to try out, and a letter from a Hogwarts owl that said _"Now everyone thinks you fancy me. This is exactly why I didn't want you hanging about. Asshole. --M"_

He managed to corner Malfoy just as Malfoy was leaving the hospital wing, re-fastening his robes. "What were you doing in there?" Harry demanded. "You're still sick, aren't you! Is she really just going to let you keep--"

"No, Potter," Malfoy rolled his eyes, "I had to stop by for an examination." When Harry shook his head, Malfoy sighed. "You know? To check me over? Make certain everything's still... there, and. growing. and not _dying_ or _going away_ at all." Suddenly Malfoy seemed to remember he was consorting with the enemy. "Why are you here?" he snapped.

Harry ignored him. "So people don't think we're dating, you say?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Not that I know of."

"They just think I fancy you."

"Well, you're the one always following me around, aren't you?"

"But you allow it," Harry pointed out. "You don't hex me. We don't argue."

"Of course we argue," Malfoy argued. They started making their way towards Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

"Well, we don't _fight_ , then," Harry said.

"And this is supposed to tell people we're dating?" Malfoy asked sarcastically.

"I'm just saying," Harry said - and he thought he was being quite reasonable about it - "that clearly you can stand having me around, so why do people think it only goes one way?"

Malfoy stopped walking and turned to Harry. "I'm sure I'll regret asking this," he said, "but why, Potter, is this bothering you so much?"

Harry opened his mouth on a reply, then closed it. He tried again. "Because I think we should promote the rumours."

" _What_?"

"I think we should let people believe we're together," Harry suggested. He felt a bit short of breath, as if he were suggesting something forbidden and dangerous. As if dating a potential Death Eater was supposed to be exhilarating or something. "It would let us-- let me-- I could do a better job warding you if we didn't have to sneak around all the time," he explained. "And-- and then, if... if Hermione doesn't come up with a counter-spell, then... we'll have less explaining to do. I think."

"But," Malfoy protested, "I don't want to be your ward anyway."

"Malfoy, I know that," Harry said.

"I don't even like you!"

"I don't like you either!" Harry cried.

"Well, fine!" Malfoy shoved his hands into his robes and scowled.

"Fine!" Harry said. They stared at each other and it occurred to Harry that they hadn't actually agreed on anything. "So, er. Is that. Yes?"

Malfoy paused to consider. "And if Granger comes up with the counter-spell?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "We have a very loud and public row, and never speak again?"

Malfoy nodded. "Oh, I like that," he said. "All right, then."

~*~

Harry and Malfoy chose to cultivate the rumour of their fictional relationship by meeting up during the next Hogsmeade weekend. They sat across from each other in Madame Puddifoot's and tried to keep the glaring to a minimum, checking out of the window from time to time to see if anyone might happen by.

"So," Harry began reluctantly after some time in silence, "how are you feeling?"

"Nauseous," Malfoy said slowly, "not that that's new." He gave Harry a look that clearly said _and it's all your fault_. "Granger hasn't come up with anything, has she?"

Harry shook his head. "She's collecting a list of ingredients she thinks she can use," he said, "but the difficult part will be testing it - even if she thinks she's got everything together, we'll never know if it works unless we try it out."

Malfoy nodded. "I suppose I'll have to risk it, then," he sighed, staring down at his glass of ice cream. It had melted into a pathetic sort of soup, but he hadn't eaten any.

"Malfoy, no," Harry frowned at him. "Hermione would never let you try anything if she thought it could make things worse -- this could _kill_ you. She's going to have to find another way to test it."

"Everybody's so bloody concerned about my well-being all of a sudden," Malfoy snapped. "Before, people wanted to keep me safe because of my father. Now it's _'we can't put you at risk'_ and _'this child could be important'_ and nevermind what _I_ want." He pointed at himself. " _I'm_ the man of Malfoy Manor now," he said. "Why don't I have any say?"

"Oh, I don't know, Malfoy," Harry said, annoyed, "maybe because there are more people affected by this than just you!" He scrubbed at his forehead, both to itch and to tame the fringe of hair that tickled at Slytherin beat Gryffindor in the first Quidditch match of the season, and Malfoy was furious. When Harry held out his hand for a shake and said, his skin. When he looked out of the window, a couple of the younger students - probably third years; their names escaped him - were standing ouptside, staring. "What are you looking at?" he snarled. He assumed that they could either read lips, or were frightened by the fierce expression on his face, because they scurried off immediately.

At least now they had surely been seen, Harry thought grimly.

~*~

"Well, I can't say I agree with your methods," Hermione told Harry as they sat down to breakfast, "but whatever you and Malfoy did last week in Hogsmeade is working. Even this morning I heard two second-years talking about you outside the girls' lavatory."

"I _have_ been getting some strange looks in the halls," Harry agreed.

"Who knows, maybe Professor Flitwick will offer to let you change seats to be closer to Malfoy," Ron joked, breaking a roll with his hands. "Besides," he added, deliberately loudly, "everybody knows you're madly in love or something." He snuck a look around at the few staring faces before beginning to eat.

"We are not," Harry said, playing along. The heads watching Ron swivelled his way. "It's not as if I _like_ spying on Malfoy for the cause," he shrugged, "but _somebody's_ got to do it. But listen," he added, dropping his voice to a dramatic whisper, "keep it quiet, okay, Ron?"

"Don't push it," Ron muttered, smirking, and shoved half of his roll into his mouth. He nudged Harry with his elbow suddenly. "Hey," he said, pointing. "Looks like Malfoy made it out this morning."

Across the hall, Malfoy was gesturing broadly, occasionally pointing, and a few of the Slytherins glanced over to the Gryffindor table. Harry pretended not to notice. Malfoy had insisted it would be unbelievable to the student body if he and Harry were dating without any ulterior motive, and Harry had agreed. If they each pretended to be spying on the other for their house, he figured, they could at least hope to hang on to their dignity.

_"Also," Malfoy had said, "my father's friends might be less inclined to have me killed, if they think I'm trying to win you for the Dark Lord."_

When the mail arrived Harry confirmed with the Muggle papers that no suspicious Muggle deaths had occurred, and was once again disappointed not to see any news from the Weasleys or Remus. Malfoy, on the other hand, received an owl that made his face go rather white - Harry could tell from across the hall, so that was saying something. He pushed at Crabbe and Goyle as he rose from the table and left quickly.

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. "Malfoy's not still sick, is he?" Hermione asked Harry, and Harry shook his head.

"Not if he felt well enough to come to breakfast," he said. "There must have been something in that letter." He stood. "We've got some time before Charms - I should see what happened--"

"No, Harry," Ron grabbed the sleeve of Harry's robes and held on. "Come on," he explained, "he's probably embarrassed about it or something." A disgusted look crossed Ron's face. "Wait a tick," he said, letting go of Harry. "What am I _saying_? Why should _I_ care if he's embarrassed?"

"I'll be sure to tell him about your concern," Harry grinned, gathering his things quickly. "If anybody asks, I'm meeting him very secretly undercover!" He grabbed a buttered roll as he left.

~*~

Harry had never imagined, as he unfolded the Maurader's Map, that he'd one day be using it to _find_ Malfoy, instead of avoiding him. The tiny Malfoy dot made its way back to the Slytherin dungeons, and Harry followed, keeping a respectable distance until he saw Malfoy approach the portrait hole that led to the Slytherin dorms.

"Are you going to tell me what that letter says?" he asked softly, and Malfoy spun, alarmed.

"Do you never get tired of following me?" he said, frustrated. "This doesn't concern you." He dropped his voice. "We had an agreement; you shouldn't even be here."

Harry shook his head. "I wouldn't be a good spy if I let you go off like that without even acting curious, would I? And everyone else is still at breakfast." He sighed. "Look, Malfoy - you seemed upset, so I just. Is it something about your father?" Malfoy scowled, and Harry quickly added, "I just want to know if you're in danger, all right?"

"I am _not_ ," Malfoy said, his teeth clenched, "in danger. It seems somebody has sent my mother an owl informing her of our so-called relationship, and she merely wrote to inquire about the situation." He raised a condescending eyebrow. "I left because I have some explaining to do, and because for once I'm not confined to the lavatory," he said. "Is that _all right_ with you, Potter?"

 _Try to be helpful_ , Harry thought, _and you just get trod on, when there's a Malfoy involved_. "Fine," he muttered. "Go write your letter, Malfoy. I'm sorry I even bothered to ask." He strode off at a good pace, wondering how much time he had to make it to Charms without being too late.

"Thanks _ever so much_ for the permission!" Malfoy called sarcastically after him.

~*~

Dumbledore wrote a very official letter to Narcissa Malfoy explaining that her son could not come home for the Christmas holiday because he needed to remain at Hogwarts to work on several class projects. He would be one of the only Slytherins to stay, which looked suspicious; but then again, he was still supposed to be dating Harry, who was also staying for the holidays, so the rumour mill was not satisfied so much as it was bewildered as the end of term grew near.

"You can sit with Ron and me during meals," Harry told Malfoy on the way to Transfiguration, "since hardly anybody's here over the holidays, so nobody will talk." The other students were still giving the two of them wide berth, so Harry had taken to letting Hermione and Ron go on ahead without him. He would still get to sit with his friends when he got to class, at least.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "What about Granger?" he asked, frowning.

Harry shrugged apologetically. "She's going home for the holidays," he said. "Sorry. I figure the rest of us can keep working on what she's left, until she comes back."

"I see," Malfoy sneered, "even you don't think we'll come up with anything until after she comes back." He sniffed in irritation. "That makes it at least four months, if we wait," he said. "This is ridiculous - I'm already starting to show, you know."

"You are? Already?" Harry swept his eyes over Malfoy's form looking for any odd shapes or anything weird sticking out. He'd thought he'd been very observant where that was concerned; he was half afraid Malfoy would pop up round and large one day without any warning. He supposed Malfoy's chin seemed slightly less pointy than it had been before, but otherwise Malfoy seemed as slender as ever and nothing was out of place. Then again, it had also occurred to Harry that the Hogwarts robes could hide things of this nature for a while.

"We're _Seekers_ , Potter," Malfoy said. "Every little weight gain makes a difference." He sighed. "I expect I won't be able to play Quidditch anymore, after Christmas."

"Really? I mean, oh," Harry added, to mask his surprise. Strangely enough, it had seemed to Harry -- especially after Malfoy's earlier insistence to keep playing Quidditch -- that the Slytherin would find some way to work around his progressing condition.

"Well, I'll be even fatter and more pregnant by then, won't I?" Malfoy looked away, drawing his robes more closely around himself. "Anyway, I don't want to talk about it," he muttered.

That was a sentiment Harry understood. He hadn't imagined that Malfoy might love Quidditch as much as he did himself, but if what Malfoy felt was even a fraction of Harry's passion for the sport, Harry wouldn't want to talk about it, either. "Okay," he said simply. "Is your mother, you know--" he tried to think of the most diplomatic way to put it. "Was she satisfied with your explanation? About us, I mean."

Malfoy glared at him. "I don't want to talk about that, either," he said.

~*~

Hermione had handed an enormous stack of papers and books over to Harry and Ron before she left for the Christmas holidays. _"If Malfoy wants to look it over,"_ she had said, _"that should be fine - the more heads the better - but_ don't let him make a mess of things _, all right? We've all worked too hard on this to let it go now."_

But Malfoy was right: Harry didn't have much confidence in their ability to find a counter-spell without Hermione's help. "You guys, we might have to come up with a way to explain this," he told Ron and Malfoy over the dinner table one evening, "in the worst case scenario."

"You mean, if I actually have to go through with this," Malfoy said, and Harry nodded.

"I don't suppose the truth would sound very good for either of you," Ron agreed. Harry cringed at the thought -- it would be embarrassing enough for Harry to have miscast the spell, but worlds worse for Malfoy to have been bested in a duel and have to admit to suffering these consequences.

"Well, I was thinking of telling everyone I have a stomach tumour," Malfoy said blandly.

"Yeah, but one that Madame Pomfrey couldn't heal?" Ron asked.

"And that gets worse in time?" Harry added.

"Look, it's a very serious condition," Malfoy said. "Of course it'll get worse!"

"You could say," Harry suggested, "that you're raising up an army for Voldemort. That way you can still save face with your Death Eater friends."

"Oh, that's _good_ ," Ron nodded in agreement.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, then turned to Harry. "Does he have to sit here?"

Harry shrugged. "He's my best friend," he said simply, smiling.

"No," Malfoy sighed at Ron, annoyed, "that's not _good_. That's _stupid_. The Dark Lord doesn't need to breed an army; he's got hundreds of willing foot-soldiers at his beck and call already, and he doesn't need to wait for them to grow up, either."

"Foot-soldiers like you, do you mean?" Ron asked darkly.

"I hadn't decided yet, for your information," Malfoy shot back. The use of the past tense in his statement gave Harry pause.

"So you've decided now?" he asked.

"Well, since I don't count on having your baby winning me any favours," Malfoy said sullenly, "I might as well take the path of self-preservation."

"You could," Ron suggested, "just not say anything."

Harry looked at him. "How do you mean?"

Ron shrugged. "Well, it's not really anyone's business, is it?" he said. "They're all going to talk about it whether you give an explanation or not. So," he went on, "why not just let them make up their own explanations?"

"Probably, because whatever they make up would probably be worse than anything we could make up," Harry said with a grimace.

"But that's the point, isn't it," Malfoy said suddenly, glancing at Ron. "If they're left guessing, no matter what they come up with, they know they haven't got the story. We keep it a secret, and they think we've got a plan. Like the two of us seeing each other."

Harry looked between Malfoy and Ron, puzzled by this rare and sudden agreement. "So we're not saying anything, then?"

"Exactly," Malfoy nodded. He frowned thoughtfully. "It might actally work," he murmured.

Ron looked just as surprised by this turn of events as Harry felt.

~*~

On Christmas Day, Harry woke to find that Ron had given him a box of Muggle chocolate ("my dad and I had loads of fun looking for it in Muggle London," Ron told him, beaming). Hermione had given him a private journal, complete with a lock that hissed and spat and bit you if you didn't know the password -- Harry was nipped a few times until he realized that Hermione had written the password on the back of her note. She wrote, _"I thought you might need something like this in the coming months. You can document WHATEVER YOU LIKE."_

Mrs. Weasley sent him and Ron the usual Christmas jumpers, and Remus sent Harry a book of Muggle literature that, when Harry opened it, turned out to be an instructional text on labour and delivery, cleverly repackaged so as to remove suspicion. _"I thought an introduction to certain Muggle arts was in order,"_ Remus wrote. _"Please do give it a try; I've heard it makes things much easier."_

Harry didn't have the heart to tell Remus that he had no intention of making use of the book. If everything went well, there wouldn't be any need. He wasn't ready yet to think about what they would do if everything did _not_ go well.

~*~

Malfoy spent most of his time in the library over the holidays, trying to make sense of Hermione's research. "Does she always do this?" he asked Harry, gesturing to the rolls of parchment spread out before him.

Harry leaned over and followed the path of Malfoy's finger. "Do what?"

"All the little notes in the margins and everything." Malfoy rubbed at his eyes. "It's blinding, trying to find anything here. Did she have all the ingredients she thought we might need yet, when she left?"

"I don't think so," Harry replied. "You know, I've never had a problem understanding Hermione's notes," he added, feeling a bit defensive. "Let me have a look at them." He reached for the pages, and Malfoy reluctantly gave them over.

"The brat's going show up at Hogwarts to be Sorted before we come up with anything," Malfoy said. He paused, before adding, "I hate you, Potter."

"I know," Harry said absently, scanning Hermione's notes. He could read them just fine. He knew that Malfoy had been moody lately, but really, he was such a whiner.

"I know you know," Malfoy said, "but I haven't said it recently. Are you hot at all?" He gracefully pushed back a few errant strands of white-blond hair, and Harry noticed that there was a faint sheen of sweat over Malfoy's forehead. His cheeks were still very pink - more red now, really - but a healthy shade. He was becoming rosy in a way that reminded Harry of Mrs. Weasley. He was becoming, Harry realized in horror, somebody's mother.

"No," Harry admitted. "Do you--" he faltered. "Should I get you something?"

"Forget it; I can handle it," Malfoy said, getting his wand out. He cast a cooling charm on himself; rather, he attempted to cast a cooling charm. He uttered the proper incantation, and performed the proper wrist motion, but when he finished, an impressive pudding had appeared on the table before them. It had a strawberry on top.

"Well, _shit_ ," Malfoy said, looking at it in dismay.

"Magical Misplacement," Harry hurriedly explained, casting the charm for Malfoy. "It's a second trimester side-effect. Has this happened to you before?"

"You'll notice Professor Snape doesn't even let me near my cauldron anymore in Potions," Malfoy said, his expression glum. Snape _was_ doing an awfully good job of covering for Malfoy, Harry realized. "And. thank you," Malfoy added, stiffly. "For the charm. Does this mean I'll need you hanging around me even more often, now?"

Harry bit his lip to prevent a smug smile from escaping. "Let's hope not," he said.

~*~

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said as soon as she returned from holidays, "I meant to owl you, but my parents and I were never in one place long enough - we toured Boston, you know, it was great - but I think I've realized something!" She clung to his robes breathlessly, so excited in her discovery that Harry pushed the stack of books and parchment into her hands just to keep her from squeezing him to death.

"That's great, Hermione," he said, overwhelmed by her enthusiasm. "What'd you find out?"

Hermione accepted her research gratefully. "Ron, you had it right all along," she admitted, smiling sheepishly at him.

Ron looked simultaneously surprised and amused. "What did I say?" _Yeah, what did he say?_ Harry thought.

"You asked," Hermione explained, as they made their way to the library, "if there wasn't a gender-switching spell out there."

"Yeah, so?"

"So, what if the solution isn't to reverse _all_ of the effects of the spell," Hermione suggested, "but to focus on the gender-switching aspects instead?" She set her books down at a table and smacked herself in the forehead. "Of course!" she muttered. "Of _course_ , why didn't I think of this before? I've made this more complicated than I needed to!"

Harry and Ron exchanged relieved glances. "We really could have used you two weeks ago, Hermione," Ron told her happily, and Harry was glad to let Ron speak for both of them.

~*~

With the Christmas holidays at an end and the next Quidditch match imminent, Madame Pomfrey finally had no choice but to inform Madame Hooch about Malfoy's condition. Madame Hooch had him replaced by a second-year Seeker they had on reserve.

"Melanie Bryce -- she's only in because she's little," Malfoy complained when he told Harry about it after lunch, his hands clasped inside his robes as he usually did these days. "And that's it - she's not even fast or anything!" He sighed. "Only now I'm not little _or_ fast."

"What excuse did Madame Hooch give the team?" Harry asked him.

"She said I was doing extra studies, and it was conflicting with Quidditch practice. And I am technically seeing Madame Pomfrey, so it's not all of a lie." Now that they were alone in the hall, Malfoy leaned back against the wall and pulled his hands free, pressing them to his face. His robes fell open at that, and Harry had to admit that beneath Malfoy's jumper, he was indeed starting to show. His trousers must have been altered to accommodate the growth, as they didn't seem to be stretched too far yet.

"So," Harry said, stealing a glance at the bulge of Malfoy's stomach, "can you feel the baby moving and everything now, then?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Sometimes, yeah," he said. "A little."

"Can I fee-"

"Absolutely not," Malfoy replied, without moving his hands.

Harry sighed. "Listen," he said, "Just so you know: Hermione said she might be on the edge of a breakthrough, on the counter-spell."

Malfoy slowly pulled his hands back from his face and looked at Harry. "Did she say that?" he asked sharply, narrowing his eyes.

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "She came up with something while she was on holidays." He frowned. "That's good news, isn't it?"

It seemed to Harry that Malfoy paused for a very long time, though it couldn't have been more than a few seconds. Pushing off from the wall and bringing his hands back down into his robes, he finally decided on a response. "I'll believe it when I see it," Malfoy said.

As he stalked towards the dormitories, Harry couldn't help but marvel that so many of his conversations with Malfoy still ended with one or the other storming off.

~*~

In true Hermione fashion, it was only two weeks before she appeared triumphantly in the Gryffindor common room, beaming, though apprehensive. "I did it," she announced.

Harry and Ron looked up from where they were copying Hermione's Potions notes. "Brilliant!" Harry smiled, while Ron got up and took her bag, grinning. "Is it ready? How did you do it?"

"The potion should be ready in a week," she began, sitting down next to Ron and across from Harry. "I'll have Professor Snape overlooking the process, of course. And really, once I changed my hypothesis, it all came together so well." Her smile grew. "I'm going to try to publish my results," she said. "Maybe it'll be helpful for someone else one day."

"That's great, Hermione," Harry told her. "I'm sure even Malfoy'll be falling over himself in gratitude when he finds out."

"Well, he'll be in a lot less danger, at least," Hermione said. "When we restore his body to its original form, everything should be -- well, re-absorbed, to put it simply," she explained. "Earlier on it would have just been a few errant cells, but the same principle applies even if we're doing it later."

"Is that really possible so far in, though?" Ron wanted to know.

Hermione nodded. "It's more risky, of course," she said, "but anything that isn't absorbed would be neutralized, and then Madame Pomfrey could remove it magically. There shouldn't even be any lasting effects," she added happily.

~*~

They presented Hermione's case to Malfoy in a quiet corner of the library during a study break the next day. Hermione had charmed the illustrations she'd made in her paper so that they walked her audience through the process she claimed her potion would set in motion. It really was good enough to be published, Harry thought, impressed. It was a thing of magical textbooks, and then some.

Malfoy gave Hermione a long, thoughtful look before pressing his lips together, determined. "Well, thank you, Granger, and I do appreciate your help," he said finally, with a regal lift of his head, "but I-- I think I'm going to have to decline, after all."

" _What_?" Harry and Ron hissed, exchanging alarmed glances, then turned to Hermione.

Her face had gone a shade paler and a line appeared between her furrowed brows, but her expression was not disturbed. Harry thought she looked downright compassionate.

"Oh, that's-- it's quite all right," Hermione said softly, looking down at her papers thoughtfully. "Really, I... I was happy to do the research."

Harry blinked at Ron, and Ron stared back at Hermione. "What?" he asked again.

Malfoy took a deep breath in, then nodded. "Right," he said brusquely. "Well, I guess I'll be seeing you, then." He hesitated for a moment, then got up and left without another word.

Ron raised his eyebrows at Harry, who merely shrugged. "Will somebody tell me what just happened here?" he demanded.

Harry was equally confused. "I'll get to the bottom of it," he told Ron, starting off after Malfoy.

Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. "Wait, Harry," she said urgently, holding on to the sleeve of his robe. "Give him a little time, will you -- that was probably a really hard decision for him to make."

" _Decision_?" he asked her, incredulous. "That was his _decision_? To turn down all the months of work you did? So you did it all for nothing?"

"No, Harry," she said, frowning. "His decision was to go through with it."

It was as if they had been looking at the same object from different angles. Malfoy's words suddenly snapped into place with a sickening clarity in Harry's mind. How could Malfoy, who had been opposed to the whole situation from day one, possibly decide to go through with it? He still had an opportunity to escape from this unscathed, even moreso than Harry. They would never have to speak to one another again.

Not that speaking to Malfoy was always so unpleasant, really. Not all of the time.

"I understand that, Hermione," he told her gently, carefully unhooking her fingers from his sleeve. "I just-- I need to hear it from him, I think."

He caught up with Malfoy on the stairwell on the way to the Slytherin dungeons. "Hey, Malfoy," he called, and Malfoy seemed to contemplate his next move, slowing, before stopping and turning to face him. "Did you really mean that?" Harry asked quietly, when he'd gotten close enough to be heard. "Back there. What you said?"

Malfoy's expression crossed slightly between bored and irritated, as he cast the occasional glare at passing students and avoided answering Harry's question. "I didn't realize I was required to consult you beforehand," he finally said, raising an eyebrow.

Harry ignored the comment. "Why?" he asked, and they both knew he wasn't referring to Malfoy's wisecrack. "I thought you wanted to be rid of it more than anybody. I thought you didn't want anything to change--"

"Yes, well, everything's already been changing, hasn't it?" Malfoy said. He leaned back against the railing of the staircase and scowled. "I've already given up Quidditch, my spells are rubbish, half my dignity's gone due to being seen with _you_ all the time--"

"That's exactly my point--"

"And I saw it, all right?" Malfoy blurted, and folded his arms over himself. "Madame Pomfrey showed me the baby, and it's. well, it's sort of... person-like, now. Moving around and things, and sucking its thumb, and." He paused, then reluctantly added, "and I think it might be a girl."

"You--" Harry was struck speechless for a moment. He hadn't even thought about whether the baby would be a boy or a girl yet; he'd never imagined they'd make it this far. He couldn't help but feel a little resentment at being excluded from the decision-making process, but there was also a surge of emotion he couldn't deny. They were going to have a _daughter_. "And I still have no say in this?" he wondered. "Have you even thought about what this means?"

"Believe me," Malfoy said wryly, "I hardly have time to do much else."

Harry sighed and joined Malfoy in leaning back against the staircase railing. "So we're really going to do this, then," he said numbly. He bit his lip nervously. How did one go about preparing to be a parent with someone like Malfoy, anyway?

"I guess," Malfoy said. He sighed as well, and looked everywhere on the landing but at Harry.

It was past time, Harry thought, to send Remus a thank-you letter for his Christmas gift.

Ron was waiting for Harry when he got back to the Gryffindor common room. "So, did you find him?" he asked, when Harry climbed through the portrait-hole. When Harry nodded, he asked, "is he really serious, then?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded again. "He was pretty determined."

"Unbelievable," Ron marvelled, as they climbed the stairs to their dorm. "I mean, I never figured on.... imagine, the two of you, _really_ having a baby! You don't think he'll still change his mind, do you?"

Harry stopped at the foot of his bed and looked back at Ron. "He told me he thinks he's having a girl, Ron," he said simply.

"Whoa," Ron whispered.

"I _know_ ," Harry said, and let himself fall backwards onto his bedspread.

After a few moments, Ron spoke up again. "That's really big news, Harry," he said. He sounded almost wistful.

"Yeah," Harry sighed up at the ceiling. When Ron didn't respond again, he propped himself up on his elbows and looked over at his best friend. Ron, who had been watching him, immediately glanced away to gaze out of the window across the room. "What?" Harry demanded.

Ron reached across himself and scratched at his elbow awkwardly. "Uh," he said. "Hermione and I are going to Madame Puddifoot's this Hogsmeade weekend."

"Oh," Harry said. He nodded blankly. "Okay."

Ron looked back at him. "I mean, we're going _together_ , Harry," he emphasized, his face going red. "Like, as a couple."

Harry's mouth froze on a reply. How many startling revelations could he handle in one day? "I--" he frowned. "When did this happen?"

"When I asked her, you git," Ron said, blushing all the way from his neck to his hairline, but smirking underneath it all. "Last week sometime, I guess." Sometime when Harry was off with Malfoy, Harry suspected. "It was really hard working up the nerve to do it, too -- Hermione's sort of intimidating sometimes, did you know that?"

Harry felt his grin spread all the way across his face to match Ron's. "That's great, Ron," he said sincerely. "Really. I hope you guys have a good time."

"Thanks, I'm sure we will," Ron agreed. "I wish you could be happier about your own news, though," he added soberly, and Harry, who was happy to be distracted, felt his smile start to slip.

"Yeah," he said, "me too."

~*~

"Oh, I know this place," Malfoy said, glancing around the bare wall where the Room of Requirement would appear. "This is about where we apprehended the lot of you for Umbridge last year."

"Yeah," Harry muttered sarcastically. "Thanks for that, by the way."

"Well, where is it?" Malfoy wanted to know. "There was a door here, wasn't there?"

"You have to concentrate," Harry explained, "as you walk by the wall. Think about what we need, and the Room of Requirement will provide it. Are you ready?"

Malfoy nodded, and the two of them began pacing the length of the wall, faces serious and focused on the task at hand. _We need to practice for the birth,_ Harry thought. _And materials. We need cushions, and comfortable clothes, and some place to lie down. We need to practice for the birth..._

"Here it is," Malfoy said, stopping suddenly, and Harry glanced over to see that the door had indeed appeared. They went inside and found the Room of Requirement furnished with a sofa, bookshelves, and a small battalion of cushions much as it had been the year before for DA meetings, but on the bookshelves were texts on pregnancy and childbirth in the vein of the one Remus had sent Harry. On the sofa there were a few changes of clothes, neatly folded.

Malfoy strode to the sofa and picked up a pair of trousers, holding them up for a moment in consideration. He cast his gaze about the room before settling back on Harry. "Didn't think of wishing for a place to change, did we," he noted, tossing Harry a set of clothes as well. Then he nodded at the door. "Well? Out, then."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Me? Why don't you just turn around or something?"

"I'm not concerned about seeing _you_ , Potter," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. "This is my privacy we're talking about."

"Well, if I leave," Harry explained, "I might not be able to get back in. And I might not be able to take my clothes with me, either, so we'll just both have to turn around and make the best of it."

Malfoy scowled at that. "Fine," he conceded. "But you go in that far corner there. And take off your glasses!"

After he finished changing, Harry put his glasses back on and waited, his hand pressed against the wall. "Are you finished yet?" he asked, finally.

"Yeah," Malfoy said, and Harry turned to find him in the middle of the room, eyeing the cushions. "Don't tell me we're going to sit on these," Malfoy asked cautiously.

"Here," Harry took a cushion off the sofa and handed it to Malfoy. "If you cross your legs when you sit, then I can sit behind you like this," he dropped the cushion to the floor and spread his legs. Malfoy looked at him with as much distaste as he'd held for the cushions earlier, and Harry sighed. "Oh, come on," he said. "We won't even have to touch."

"It's a bit late for that," Malfoy pointed out, but carefully sat between Harry's spread legs, as Harry read through his book's table of contents.

"They say the key to pain management is visualization," Harry told Malfoy, skimming over the text. "If you can focus on something else in your head strongly enough, it's supposed to distract you from the pain of labour and delivery."

"I'd like to visualize myself hexing you a tail," Malfoy said. "Is that in there anywhere?"

Harry ground his teeth. "No," he said carefully. "I think they have something more like flowers in mind. Or trees, or something." He continued to skim. "It says focusing on the things that make you happy can help with the moodiness as well," he added, offhandedly.

"Are you suggesting I'm moody?" Malfoy asked, a warning in his voice.

Harry stared at him. "You can't be seriously asking that."

"I'm not moody," Malfoy told him. "I'm bloody _depressed_ , that's not moodiness."

"All the more reason you should focus on something that will make you happy," Harry said patiently. He felt like he was soothing a particularly petulant child. He supposed he could consider it practice for the real thing.

"Well, the one thing I could always count on to make me happy," Malfoy said miserably, "was talking about how much I hate you, and Weasley, and Granger. And now I can't even talk to anybody about _why_ I hate you so much, and the Mudblood actually tried to _help_ me, and Weas-- well, I still hate Weasley. At least I have that."

"Right," Harry said absently. "Listen, do you think you could. maybe stop calling Hermione a Mudblood so much by now?"

"Probably not," Malfoy sighed. "Lineage doesn't lie."

"Well, okay, my mother was Muggle-born, all right?" Harry said. He had to concentrate to keep his hands from clenching into fists. "That's the baby's grandmother right there. So at least stop talking badly about your own kid's family."

Malfoy stared at Harry. "Potter," he said. "We," he gestured between them, "are not a family. We don't even so much as _resemble_ a family. I mean, I realize you've got some screwed-up notions of familial loyalty, but _honestly_."

Harry rose so abruptly that Malfoy had to put one hand out to keep from falling backwards. "I am not going to respond to that," he said stiffly, "because I could say something I'll regret later." He hoped he could be more charitable than to wish something horrible on Malfoy's family, like death and pain and loss.

"Oh, just _say_ it," Malfoy said sullenly, leaning back on his hand. "I don't care." With his eyes downcast and his other hand on his stomach, Malfoy looked surprisingly vulnerable. The thin t-shirt he wore outlined the curve of his stomach dramatically, and Harry found himself letting go of his righteous anger, not entirely unwillingly.

"It's not worth it," Harry declared, coming back over and kneeling by Malfoy again. "I'll just chalk it up to hormones kicking your arse, and leave it at that."

"All right," Malfoy admitted. "Hormones _are_ kicking my arse." His eyes flickered over Harry's face uncertainly. He actually had pretty eyes, Harry had to admit; and long eyelashes that barely registered from a distance because they were so blond. "Don't tell anyone I said that," he warned Harry.

"I won't," Harry promised him.

"Not even Weasley or Granger," Malfoy insisted. He seemed to have gone from melancholy to belligerent to almost desperate in a span of seconds. It was as if the air had changed between them suddenly, and they both recognized it. It was the first time Malfoy had ever asked him for something.

"Not even them," Harry swore.

"Good," Malfoy nodded. His gaze dropped to Harry's hand. "Go on, then," he murmured.

Harry blinked. "What?"

"You were reading," Malfoy said.

"Right," Harry looked down as well. "About your moods, they say, er...." He tried to find his place in the text again.

"You read that bit already," Malfoy said, then quickly leaned up and kissed Harry.

Kissing Cho Chang a year ago had been so full of anxiety, tears, and even a little fear, that Harry felt even less prepared for this now than he had been then. Cho had been pretty even while she cried, sort of like the women in the magical romance novels Mrs. Weasley kept back at the Burrow. Malfoy wasn't pretty, exactly; except for his eyes, and maybe his hair, and the way his face was always a little pink these days. And Harry had liked Cho, really _liked_ her. The best he could say for Malfoy was that he no longer wanted to hit him in the face.

He opened his mouth to Malfoy anyway.

Surprisingly, Malfoy's kiss was rather chaste, lips only slightly parted, and when the tip of Malfoy's tongue brushed Harry's it was, Harry thought, just the right amount of wet. Malfoy's lips were very soft, and Harry suddenly knew why he hadn't been able to describe Cho's kiss. He knew what he would say about this one.

It was actually _nice_.

~*~

Gryffindor defeated Hufflepuff in the next Quidditch match, and Cho Chang bested Melanie Bryce in the race for the snitch when Ravenclaw met Slytherin.

"Brilliant catch, Cho," Harry told her after the match, joining her on the field. It had been her last win as a Hogwarts student, so Harry understood the significance of the victory. He handed her a Butterbeer and toasted her with the one he held in his other hand. "Congratulations."

Cho smiled at Harry knowingly, comfortable for the first time since before they'd ever dated. "Thanks," she said. It was so nice to be able to talk to her without the tension of last year hanging over their heads. "You weren't so bad, yourself."

"What do you think you'll do after leaving Hogwarts?" Harry asked her. "I hear there was a scout from Puddlemore at the game. You could probably try out for the team."

Cho shrugged and sipped at her Butterbeer thoughtfully. "I know," she said. "I've been thinking about it. It might be a safer job than being a cursebreaker these days, right?"

They exchanged knowing looks. "Yeah," Harry agreed. "It probably is."

She glanced behind him and nodded at Ron and Hermione in the swell of the crowd. "I'm surprised that you're here," she added, "because Slytherin lost. I thought you and Malfoy were... well..." she blushed slightly.

Harry smiled. "Oh, that," he said. "Let's just say it's complicated." The truth was that so far, neither he nor Malfoy had discussed their kiss since it had happened. They hadn't had a chance to meet for more practice sessions in the Room of Requirement, and Harry didn't want to be the first to bring it up. Malfoy had kissed _him_ , he thought stubbornly, and yet it was almost as if the Slytherin were avoiding Harry for it.

So Harry hadn't told Ron and Hermione about it, either. He still felt slightly put out that Ron and Hermione had not told him about their relationship sooner, but he had to admit that he had been quite busy keeping up with Malfoy lately. He also had to admit that he simply didn't feel prepared to defend himself if his friends were going to be shocked or disappointed that he had been kissing Draco Malfoy, of all people.

He became aware that Cho was still watching him, and shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. "Uh-- it's not as if we really fancy each other or anything," he added, just to fill the gap in conversation.

"Well-- good luck with that," was all Cho said, awkwardly.

~*~

When Harry arrived in Potions with Ron and Hermione, Malfoy was already in his seat, and for some reason Harry felt disappointed. It had been several days since he and Malfoy had walked to class together; by now, Harry was willing to put the entire kissing thing behind him if things would just return to normal. Hanging around with Ron and Hermione -- who had taken to holding hands everywhere they walked together -- was starting to make Harry feel like a third wheel around his best friends. He and Malfoy rarely ever got along, but at least with Malfoy he knew exactly where he fit in.

This morning, Snape was teaching the class how to brew contraceptive potions ("a standard spell that some of you in sixth year would do well to acquaint yourselves with"), and Harry thought surely there had to be some irony in the choice of subject matter. "Does he think he's being funny?" he muttered to Ron, sprinkling baby dragon scales liberally over his cauldron.

"Probably," Ron whispered. "He was looking right at you when he said it, wasn't he?"

"He still blames me," Harry admitted.

"Yeah, well," Ron said, "someone should let him know that if Malfoy could get over it, so can he."

"Don't be so sure about that," Harry mumbled.

"What'd you say?"

Harry considered, for a moment, letting Ron in on his concerns; but when he looked up, he met Snape's eye and shook his head instead. "Nothing."

By the end of the lesson, Harry had managed to get his potion to shimmer a forest green colour according to specifications. He handed in his sample without major incident, and no lions or other wild animals had appeared during class, which was encouraging. Perhaps Malfoy wasn't angry with him after all.

"You go on ahead without me," he told Ron, who shot a glance back at Malfoy and nodded. The classroom had cleared quickly once the lesson was over, but Malfoy had remained seated, his head propped up on his elbow next to his empty cauldron.

Harry took his own time cleaning his cauldron. "So much for avoiding me," he said, when the heavy doors to the classroom closed behind Snape and only the two of them remained. "Is that what you've been doing? Avoiding me?"

"If I say yes," Malfoy said, without turning around, "will you leave?"

"Malfoy, this is stupid," Harry decided. He took his things up to Malfoy's desk and set them on the seat next to him. "It's a little late to pretend you can't stand me, isn't it?"

"Oh, I don't know," Malfoy's sarcasm was hard to miss as he pushed away from the desk and rose to his feet. "Let me think about it."

The first thing Harry thought as he faced Malfoy was that Malfoy had got new robes. The second thing Harry thought was that Malfoy had got new _maternity_ robes. The new robes had fastenings down a row in the front, which meant that they would actually close over Malfoy's stomach as he grew, but which also meant that they couldn't be hidden behind if Malfoy didn't want to draw attention to himself.

But Malfoy was past the stage of not drawing attention to himself, Harry realized, looking down the length of his body. What had once seemed only like a bump in Malfoy's slender profile was now a rather pronounced bulge, noticeable even from the front, where the folds of his robe spread apart to make room. "Whoa," Harry breathed before he could catch himself, and glanced up to see if Malfoy had heard him. He had.

"Thanks," Malfoy drawled. "You represent what will no doubt be the friendliest reaction I'm going to get when everyone sees me like this." His eyes narrowed. "And this? Is why I still hate you, Potter."

"It's not that bad," Harry argued. He didn't know if it was that bad. He could only think that Malfoy had three months in which to grow even larger, and he couldn't envision it being much worse than this. Perhaps it was that bad.

"Oh, spare me," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. He lifted a sheaf of parchment off his desk and laid it on the shelf of his stomach. It stayed up. Harry didn't have anything to say to that, and when Malfoy looked to him for an answer, a panicked shrug was all he could offer. "Exactly my point," Malfoy scowled, tearing the parchment away and slamming his hand into the desk. "By tomorrow the entire school will know, and it doesn't matter what they think now, does it, because I'm so _bloody_ obvious."

Harry shook his head. "You can't honestly," he said, incredulous, "expect me to believe you're surprised by this, can you?"

"Well, it's hardly _fair_ , is it?" Malfoy cried. His face was getting very red, and Harry was starting to feel very warm, himself. 

" _Fair_?" Harry scoffed. "You mean fair, like having a great bloody scar on your forehead you don't even remember? Fair, like having people try to kill you all the time? Is that what you mean by fair?" he said, and it felt _good_ for an instant; fighting back instead of backing down and letting Malfoy have his way yet again. It felt good until the side of his head caught fire.

It was his hair, really, which burst into flames, and it was nothing a quick dampening charm couldn't take care of. But Harry still cringed when he touched the side of his head and pieces of broken hair crumbled through his fingers. When he'd recovered, Malfoy was still standing by his desk, looking bemused.

"Don't you dare," Malfoy said dourly, "imply that we're even for this, Potter. Or equals, for that matter."

"And here I thought," Harry said, "you implied that when you kissed me." He gripped his wand tightly in his fist and braced himself for the worst; for Malfoy to admit that that had been a mistake; for anything.

But nothing happened. They stared at one another defiantly for a long moment, before Malfoy grabbed his things from his desk in aggravation. "I'm going to be late for my antenatal check-up with Madame Pomfrey," he muttered, slinging his bag awkwardly over his shoulder. He paused. "Oh, and by the way, Potter: do fuck off."

"After you!" Harry yelled after Malfoy's retreating form, and kicked hard at his desk when the Slytherin was out of sight.

"Lack of respect for the school's equipment, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked, coming back in through the newly opened classroom doors. "I think that'll be five points from Gryffindor."

~*~

Harry spent the rest of the day feeling nearly as scrutinized as he had when he had been suspected of being the heir of Salazar Slytherin in his second year. It seemed that everywhere he went someone's head turned, or someone was whispering to someone else, surreptitiously pointing. And it seemed that in every class, Malfoy was the first in his seat and the last to rise, though it didn't seem possible that he could be getting to his lessons more quickly than Harry.

"Malfoy really is starting to get huge, isn't he," Ron muttered to Harry after supper, on their way back to the common room. "Did you see him leaving the hall? I thought everyone was just exaggerat-- ow!" He shot a look at Hermione, on his other side. "What?"

"Well, isn't it nice to know all the gossips are accurate," Harry said sarcastically.

"Is that what he was so upset about earlier?" Ron went on, rubbing his arm and eyeing Hermione carefully. "I'll bet he'll be ticked off if he has to start dropping classes, too."

Harry looked between the two of them, alarmed. "Why would he have to do that? He didn't have to drop Potions, and he's been conjuring stuff by accident for ages."

"But Potions isn't Charms, or Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry," Hermione said. "And I'm not talking about what Malfoy can't do in class, either. Rhubarb flan," she told the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Someone mis-casting a spell during a lesson could really hurt the baby," she went on, as they all climbed inside.

"You mean someone like me," Harry suggested, once they were all standing in the common room. He was really starting to get tired of all of the implied blame by now. He was beginning to think it would follow him around forever, like everything else in his life.

"No," Hermione sighed. "I mean someone in general. You should really start thinking about the baby's well-being, you know."

"Leave it, Hermione," Ron said gently.

"Well, she's going to be born in a couple of months," Hermione protested, disentangling her hand from Ron's, "and Harry and Malfoy aren't even talking to each other!" She turned to Harry. "Do you even know what you're going to do when the school year's over?"

"No," Harry said irritably, "but right now I'm tired and going directly to sleep." He paused. "Are you--" he began sharply, then tried again, hoping to sound less accusing. "What about you two?"

Hermione shrugged. "I was just about to get started on the essay McGonagall set for Transfigurations," she said.

"And I was going to keep you company," Ron told Harry, but Harry shook his head.

"No," he said, "you two... stay down here and. snog, or something." _Somebody ought to be able to,_ he thought.

Up in the boys' dorm, Neville was reading quietly in his bed, and Dean and Seamus were deep in conversation, heads tilted together for privacy. When Harry got to his bed he dumped his bag out in frustration, emptying half of its contents. The tiny act of destruction was only mildly satisfying, but the noise attracted the attention of everyone in the room.

"Oh, hullo, Harry," Neville said, looking up from his Herbology textbook. Seamus and Dean broke apart before greeting Harry as well. They exchanged glances, and Harry steeled himself for what was coming.

"Say, Harry," Seamus began, "have you heard what they're saying about you and Malfoy?"

"No," Harry said drily. "Everyone's been speaking so quietly, you see." He looked down at his bed. He really needed to read up on Charms; he'd fallen a bit behind lately.

"They're saying you're the one who got Malfoy pregnant," Dean put in. "Like you're trying to have a family or something." He frowned at Harry. "Did something happen to your hair?"

Harry didn't even bother to cover the damaged hair with his hand. "It's nothing," he muttered. "Some-- potions ingredients. Couldn't wash them off, so." He nodded at them. "What's Malfoy saying?"

The other boys shook their heads. "Nothing," Seamus admitted. "Not a word. Some of us figure maybe he was like that when he came to Hogwarts this year, 'cause he seems kind of far along and all--"

"That's not true," Harry blurted. He knew he shouldn't have said anything, but he didn't want anyone jumping to conclusions that cast Malfoy in even worse a light than he was already in.

"--so we thought he might be protecting someone," Seamus trailed off. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "So it _was_ you, then? You said you were spying on him, not setting up house with him!"

"Maybe it was an accident," Dean suggested uneasily.

"You can't get a bloke pregnant by accident, Dean," Seamus argued, and Harry had to bite down on his lip to prevent a sarcastic laugh from escaping.

"So," Dean began tentatively, "what? Were you two really together, then? Do you--" he screwed up his face-- "are you in love with _Malfoy_?"

"No!" Harry cried. "Listen, whatever you're thinking, it's not--" he sighed in frustration. And here he'd thought he might _escape_ the insanity of his situation by retiring to his dorm. "I can't talk about it, all right?" he tried, finally appealing to their sense of secrecy. "There's too much at stake," he added. At least that much was true. Having just unloaded his textbooks from his bag, Harry now put them back in, one by one, just for something to do.

"And what about you?" he sighed, turning to Neville. "You don't have anything to say about all this, do you?"

Neville set down his book thoughtfully. "No, I don't suppose I do," he said. "All I know is, Malfoy hasn't really done anything horrible since the school year started. I noticed, and I thought it a little strange, and maybe this is why. I don't know. But I think maybe you've been a good influence on him, too, so." He shrugged. "That's it."

"Well-- thanks, Neville," Harry said, both surprised and a bit pleased. He could feel some of the defensiveness leaving his posture already, even as he changed out of his uniform for the night.

~*~

Harry knew that something was wrong the instant that Ron and Hermione met him outside of the Great Hall before breakfast, guilt on their faces and their hands behind their backs. "Uh, you probably don't want to go in there, Harry," Ron said hurriedly, blocking Harry's view of the doors.

"Why?" Harry asked suspiciously. "What's wrong?"

"Food fight," Hermione said, at the same time Ron said, "Nothing!"

"Right," Harry said, and pushed past Ron into the hall. Once inside, he was immediately aware of how quiet it seemed, full of hushed conversations that came to a stop when he entered. The entire Slytherin table seemed to be sporting buttons on their robes, in a striking combination of red and blue. Some of the buttons were flashing. Harry immediately feared the worst.

"What's this?" he whispered as they made their way to the Gryffindor table. "What are those buttons about?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances again, and Harry found himself stifling a sigh. "We confiscated a whole bunch of them," Ron said reluctantly, bringing his hands out from behind his back, "and even took some points, but there's just too many of them, Harry. We're sorry."

"We had to tell McGonagall about it," Hermione admitted, handing Harry a button.

Harry read it. "S.A.I.F.?" he asked, looking back up at them. "I don't understand," he said slowly. "What...?"

Hermione reached past him and flicked a switch on the button. The text flashed, fluttered, and the letters re-arranged themselves until they read: Students Against Immoral Fraternization.

"It's about you, Harry," Hermione said sadly. "And Malfoy."

Harry stared at it for a moment. He pressed his lips together and imagined himself crushing the button into powder with his bare hands. It only made him feel marginally better, before a more pressing matter came to the front of his mind. "Where _is_ Malfoy, do you know?"

"He didn't come down at all this morning," Ron told him. "Then again, he probably found out before all of us down here." He scowled. "It's Parkinson who's behind it, we've already figured out as much."

"I have to find him," Harry muttered, turning to leave.

"Harry," Hermione called after him, and he spun to face her, frustrated.

"I have to find him, Hermione," he said again. "He needs to--" Harry glanced at the Slytherin table again. He could see Crabbe and Goyle among the students, but they didn't seem to be wearing buttons like their classmates. "He needs to know he's not alone in this," he realized.

"And you need to be the one to tell him that?" Hermione asked, and there was more to the question plainly written on her face. When Harry nodded uncertainly, her face softened. "Oh, Harry," she said.

Harry hesitated a moment longer, uncertain in this new revelation, and Ron nodded impatiently toward the doors. "Well? What are you waiting for?" he asked.

Harry didn't need to be told twice.

~*~

The Marauder's Map was already out and opened before Harry realized he wouldn't need it to discern Malfoy's whereabouts. He didn't know how he knew it, but there was only one place he suspected Malfoy might be.

"Professor Snape," Harry called from outside of Snape's office door. He knocked a second time. "Please, Professor, I know he's in there - let me in!"

"You are not welcome here," Snape's voice came from just behind the door. He was taunting him, Harry was sure of it. "I think you've done quite enough damage for the day. Or, perhaps, the term?"

"That's why I need to--" Harry wasn't about to explain anything to Snape if he could help it. It wasn't the Professor's bloody business. "Professor, if I could just have a _word_ with Malfoy, sir. Just five minutes - that's all I ask!"

There was silence on the other end of the door, and Harry fervently hoped Snape was conveying his message for Malfoy's consideration. "I'll say my piece and then I'll leave, I promise!" he said earnestly, and the door swung slightly open.

Malfoy was sitting at Snape's desk, leaning forward with his elbows on the ledge. His chin rested on his folded arms. He didn't even really look pregnant from behind, which struck Harry as particularly funny -- all this trouble caused when Malfoy hadn't even changed that much. Well, he supposed that wasn't entirely true. Malfoy had changed in some ways that didn't involve his body, and so had Harry.

"Very well, then," Snape muttered as Harry rushed past him. "Five minutes," he warned. "I'll return to escort you out, if need be."

 _I'm sure you will_ , Harry thought, irritated, before launching into his speech to win Malfoy over from hating him to... well, he wasn't sure yet. He didn't really have anything prepared, but he figured he worked well enough under pressure. "Malfoy, listen," he began, "that whole thing down there with the buttons is just rubbish; it doesn't mean anything. And as if Pansy Parkinson should lecture about morality -- I heard she's been shagging all kinds of blokes all year!" He pulled up short a few steps shy of Malfoy's chair. "Um," he said.

"So," Malfoy began, almost conversationally, "the parents have started sending owls already. Did you know that?" He did not look back at Harry.

Harry shook his head. "No," he admitted. "No, I--"

"They all want to have me removed," Malfoy went on. "For the-- until June."

"But," Harry argued, "but-- you won't have to leave-- Dumbledore's already got that taken care of, and he'll--"

"That's not really the point, is it," Malfoy asked sharply, finally turning to take Harry in. "All the letters so far say they want me to leave -- except for my mother, who told me I should stay at Hogwarts, because she can't guarantee my safety otherwise."

"Oh, I--" Harry had expected as much, and his hatred of all things Malfoy extended to Narcissa, but he could still imagine how that must have stung. "I'm sorry," he said.

"My own House hates me, Potter," Malfoy said. "I'm a blood traitor now." He paused. "Is this what it feels like to be you, then?" he asked testily.

Harry picked up on the sarcasm in Malfoy's question and shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe, with a few less death threats."

"So," Malfoy said, "is that what you came here to say? To try to make me feel better?" He put his head back down on his folded arms, forehead first this time, rather than waiting for an answer.

"No." Harry closed the two-step gap between him and Snape's desk and crouched down beside Malfoy's chair. "I thought you might-- I wanted to--" Harry could feel himself becoming flustered. He had no words. Nothing seemed the right thing to say anymore. He put a tentative hand on Malfoy's shoulder. "You can visualize yourself hexing me a tail if you like," he offered, and Malfoy huffed a shaky breath into his arms.

Snape did not return for him, and for that Harry was thankful.

~*~

"I'd like to see Malfoy transfigure anything these days," Harry heard Zacharias Smith mutter to Ernie Macmillan just outside of the Transfiguration classroom, while they all headed inside before the lesson. "I heard being pregnant's really messed with his magic."

Harry slowed, and could feel Ron tense beside him. "Care to say that any louder, Smith?" Ron asked, turning abruptly so that his Prefect badge was visible. His shoulder bumped against Harry; Harry gripped his wand and took a moment to steady himself.

Zachary scowled at them. "Just saying what I've heard," he said defiantly.

"Maybe you shouldn't be running your mouth when you don't know what you're talking about," Harry suggested. It wasn't even a fair attack on Zacharias's part; Malfoy wasn't on the Auror track for his NEWTs and wasn't taking Transfiguration. Harry just felt frustrated on Malfoy's behalf.

Zacharias ignored him. "Is it true he'll have to sit out the rest of the term?" he demanded.

"I assure you, Mr. Smith," Professor McGonagall said, appearing at the doorway with folded arms, "that none of our students will have to leave Hogwarts for the duration of the school year. Now, if you'll kindly step inside?" She gestured into the classroom, and Harry didn't attempt to hide his relief as he crept around her to enter.

McGonagall put her observant eyes to good use during the lesson, halting all attempts at whispering and gossip between the students around Harry. When students began communicating by flashing their buttons in some sort of Morse code, she became far more aggravated. By the end of class she had confiscated an impressive stack of buttons to decorate the surface of her desk.

"Mr. Potter," she called, as Harry gathered his things to leave, "if you would please stay after class? I'd like to have a word with you."

Harry half-expected that he would be meeting with professors a great deal more often now that Malfoy was entering the final trimester of pregnancy, but he had been dreading it all the same. There were too many questions he knew he would be asked, and he didn't have answers to any of them. He waited until the classroom was empty before leaving his bag behind and approaching her desk. "Yes, Professor?"

"Come with me," she said briskly, coming out from behind her desk and passing him to head for the doors. "We're going to see Professor Dumbledore."

~*~

"Harry," Dumbledore eyed Harry carefully over the rims of his glasses. "Professor Snape informs me," he said, as if it were a casual matter of interest, "that Draco has decided to keep the child he is carrying. I assume you were aware of this?"

Harry looked down, feeling vaguely guilty for not having gone to either professor immediately with the information. Of course the decision would affect Malfoy more directly, and of course he would take the issue to the Head of his House first. Harry simply hadn't thought about it. And it was really Malfoy's place to tell others, Harry reasoned, since it had been Malfoy's decision. "Yes, Professor," he admitted.

"Have you given any thought," Dumbledore went on, approaching Harry from behind his desk, "to what you plan to do after the baby is born?

Harry wished yet again that he and Malfoy hadn't spent the past several days avoiding one another, or at least that this conversation didn't have to take place until next week. "No, sir," he mumbled. "We haven't-- we haven't really had much of a chance to talk about it yet--"

"You haven't discussed this at all?" McGonagall asked Harry, looking slightly alarmed. "These are very important decisions you have to make," she emphasized. "And time is quickly running out, Harry!"

"I know, Professor," he told her. "I've thought about that, but," he appealed to Dumbledore. "Shouldn't this really be more up to Malfoy? I realize I can't be of much help if I have to live with the Dursleys again this summer."

Harry could have sworn he saw Dumbledore wink. "Ah, yes," the headmaster said, giving Harry a slight knowing smile. "About that; I meant to have a talk with you on the subject. Do you remember what I told you last year, about why you had to stay with your aunt, Harry?"

"Of course," Harry said, shooting a glance at McGonagall. He supposed she would know the reason as well. "You said that because Aunt Petunia is my mother's blood relative, I'm safe as long as we share a home."

"Precisely," Dumbledore nodded. "Because your mother's blood flows in your veins as well as your aunt's. Now," he went on, reaching out and resting a hand on Harry's shoulder, "if Draco gives birth to your child, would that same blood not flow through the baby's veins as well?"

Harry froze, considering Dumbledore's words. He fought against his impulse to kiss the headmaster, forcing himself to look for any potential flaws in the argument Dumbledore had just presented. Finding none, he slowly said, "so... as long as the baby and I share a home..." he could feel himself start to smile broadly, "do you mean I don't have to stay with the Dursleys anymore?"

Dumbledore's eyes were positively twinkling. "Yes," he agreed, "however: you do need a constant residence -- a place that you can call home. A rented home or flat for summer holidays is not enough," he emphasized. "You also need to keep in mind that the baby's safety is a concern for us all, as is Draco's." He stroked his beard solemnly and appeared to be giving the issue serious thought for a long moment.

"Perhaps," he said finally, as if it had just occurred to him, "it is time you took over lordship of Number 12 Grimmauld Place." He held up a piece of folded paper that Harry didn't remember seeing him retrieve from his robes or desk. "I have it on good authority," Dumbledore said, "that Sirius would have wanted you to have it."

The pain of Sirius's loss was still near, but the possibilities that Dumbledore had just revealed would change Harry's life forever, for the better. Now Harry's grin threatened to split his face. Spending the entire summer away from the Dursleys -- in fact, never having to return to their home -- he could hardly imagine a whole summer spent with Remus Lupin, with the run of the house to work or study as he pleased. He could hardly imagine that the house would be safe for a newborn infant, however. "What about Kreacher?" he asked, his grin fading. "What if he tells Narcissa Malfoy where her son is? What if he tries to hurt the baby or something?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "You are the lord of the manor, Harry," he told him. "Kreacher won't harm the baby because she will be your family. And as for Narcissa Malfoy," Dumbledore waved a hand. "She will be coming to stay at the house, as well."

" _What?_ " Harry glanced at Professor McGonagall in horror, but the head of Gryffindor House seemed unsurprised by this bit of information. "Professor--"

"Not to worry, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Since Lucius's imprisonment, Mrs. Malfoy has become increasingly disinclined to pursue the path of the Death Eaters. She never was one, even in the First War; without her husband's support and protection she has found herself rather isolated and without allies." He offered Harry a reassuring smile. "She was quite willing to accept my offer of amnesty."

Harry wasn't quite ready to be re-assured by Dumbledore's revelations. "What about Malfoy?" he asked. "Does he know about all of this?"

"Professor Snape and I have already informed Draco of the situation. In fact, this offer was conditional on his acceptance," Dumbledore said, still smiling. "You seem, I would say, even more surprised than he did at the time."

~*~

In Potions class, Snape was even sterner than McGonagall had been in Transfiguration. He insisted that everyone -- and the Slytherins were by far the greatest number of offenders -- turn in their S.A.I.F. buttons at the beginning of the lesson or risk detention. When Millicent Bulstrode closed her robes about herself protectively, Snape eyed her.

"Miss Bulstrode," he said coolly, "I have yet to give a detention to a student of my own house. I would hate to have to begin with you." Millicent scowled at that, but turned in her button nonetheless. The pile of buttons on Snapes desk was at least as large as the one McGonagall had gathered, and Harry was sure that every student had back-up copies prepared for this very scenario.

"Professor Dumbledore must really trust Malfoy, then," Hermione was saying softly, under the pretense of lending Harry some troll's blood. "If he's willing to let him move in just like that."

"Well, it's sort of like Snape, isn't it," Ron said. "Dumbledore really likes to give out those second chances, doesn't he?"

"It's not like Malfoy's done anything wrong, though," Harry pointed out. "I mean, aside from being an annoying git at times, it's not like he ever _was_ a Death Eater."

"A whole summer with Malfoy, though," Ron sighed. "How do you feel about that, Harry?"

Harry looked over at Malfoy, thinking about it some more. Malfoy had kept his head bowed over his books for most of the class, his stomach brushing the ledge of his desk. He and Snape conferred while the other students worked on their brews; Snape casually added ingredients to Malfoy's cauldron as they talked, and Malfoy made notes. Harry handed a test tube of liquefied gillyweed to Ron and fought back a pang of resentment, remembering how awful it had been to practice Occlumency with Snape. "I think it'll be okay," he said simply.

When class was over, Harry left with Ron and the other students, but waited behind in the hall for Malfoy to make his exit. He nudged the bodies around him to maintain his place until Malfoy was close enough for Harry to grab at his robes and pull. "Malfoy," he hissed, when Malfoy had turned around with an annoyed expression. The Slytherin had been faced in the direction of the dungeons and not the Great Hall. "You're not coming up for lunch, are you?"

"No," Malfoy drawled. "Surprisingly, I don't feel very hungry."

"Right," Harry nodded, keeping his grip on Malfoy's robes. "Then come with me."

Malfoy looked suspicious. "Where?"

Harry tugged hard, pulling Malfoy close enough to touch his arm. "Just trust me," he said. "I know a way, come on."

~*~

"Is there any part of Hogwarts you _don't_ have access to?" Malfoy wondered, when Harry led him through the entrance to the Hogwarts kitchens. "I wouldn't be surprised if Dumbledore himself gave you the keys to the grounds."

"Not quite," Harry grinned, taking a couple of apples from the nearest table and handing Malfoy one. "This is just a little secret for me and my friends. And by the way, you're very welcome."

"It's not bad," Malfoy allowed, nodding as he looked around. His eyes widened as he scanned the area. "Is that pumpkin juice on tap?"

Harry followed the line of Malfoy's pointing finger to see for himself. "Seems so," he agreed. "Help yourself, if you want any."

"I think I will," Malfoy said absently, taking a glass from a passing house elf and filling it with juice directly from the pumpkin. When he had done that, he took a platter of sandwiches from atop the head of another elf and set it on the table behind him. "So, Potter," he began, smirking slightly as he leaned back against the table and bit into a sandwich. "I'm told you've inherited a house elf of your own lately."

Harry took one as well. "Yeah," he said. "He was my--" Harry glanced around, meeting the eyes of a very droopy-eyed elf, and decided not to clarify. "You're right, I did," he said instead. "How do you, er--" He frowned. "How do you feel about all that?"

Malfoy made a face that Harry could only describe as disdainful resignation. "Well, I could certainly do without a few of the details," he said, "and all seven of the Weasleys, for starters."

"I didn't suppose you'd be happy about it," Harry said glumly.

"Oh, happy about having to go into hiding, you mean?" Malfoy suggested, arching an eyebrow.

"Well, you sort of defected, Malfoy," Harry hissed, shooting a warning glance at the two house elves that crouched out of the way by the stoves. "And what about living with me, then?" he wanted to know.

Malfoy shrugged and finished his sandwich. "After going through childbirth, I figure I'll be able to handle most annoyances," he said.

Harry's next few words were cut off by a small voice coming from behind Malfoy's back. "So it is true, then, sir," it said, and they both jumped. "It is true that Harry Potter and Master Malfoy are having a little one?"

"Dobby?" Harry leaned to the side to see behind Malfoy. The house elf was looking up at Malfoy with huge, watery eyes, holding one of Hermione's many knitted hats between his hands as he wrung it nervously.

" _Dobby?_ " Malfoy asked, glaring as he glanced down at the elf and then up at Harry again. "What's he doing here?" he demanded.

"He works for Professor Dumbledore now, for wages," Harry explained quickly, then bent to address the elf. "How long ago have you been hearing about this, Dobby?"

"Dobby has heard the elves talking for weeks now, sir," Dobby said, his large eyes wavering between Harry and Malfoy, "but Dobby hasn't wanted to believe them, sir. Dobby didn't believe Harry Potter would ever-- want to be with Master Malfoy, sir." He suddenly looked distraught. "Oh, I've said a terrible thing," he moaned, and reached for Malfoy's empty sandwich platter, no doubt to hit himself with.

"It's okay, Dobby!" Harry wrestled the platter from Dobby's hands and held them still. "This isn't really a good time to talk right now, Dobby," he added. "But-- thank you, for telling us."

Dobby glanced between the two of them again. "Dobby will be going, then," he said. "Dobby is just glad to know the truth, sir." He hesitated, then added, "Dobby is-- happy-- for you, sir." He averted his eyes very deliberately from Malfoy's stomach and placed his hat back on his head, before turning to go.

"I don't believe this," Malfoy muttered, as Dobby edged carefully past. "The _house elves_ are discussing my pregnancy."

"Well, they'd be the first to know, wouldn't they," Harry pointed out. "And they kept it a secret all this time." He took another apple from the table and bit in. "It's not so bad in here, is it?" he asked. "We can come by for lunch whenever you like, if you're not...."

"If I'm not feeling up to being the centre of attraction in the Great Hall?" Malfoy said resignedly. "Yes, this should do." He paused, his glass of pumpkin juice halfway to his mouth. "Is that why you brought me here?" He placed his other hand over his stomach thoughtfully. "To protect me?"

"I thought you might like it here," Harry said.

"You were trying to be nice, I suppose," Malfoy guessed.

Harry shrugged. "There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"

Malfoy sighed. "It's only your greatest weakness, all you Gryffindors. A word of advice, Potter: only the weak have to be kind," he explained. "The powerful have no need for it."

Harry shook his head. "How do the powerful _become_ powerful in the first place, then?"

"Because nobody _becomes_ powerful, Potter," Malfoy said. "It's a myth; a fantasy. Either you are, or you aren't. Either you claim power, or you don't."

Harry studied him for a moment, wondering if Malfoy still truly subscribed to the party line. All of Malfoy's sharp, unapproachable angles were long gone by now, softened and filled out by pregnancy weight. Harry was having a difficult time remembering what Malfoy had looked like before, with his narrow face and pointy, aristocratic chin. "What are you, then?" he asked Malfoy. "Are you powerful, or not?"

Malfoy just shrugged, finishing his juice. He looked down at his hand where it lay over his stomach. "I'm just _pregnant_ ," he said.

"That's not true," Harry told him. "I think you're... I think it took a lot of strength to decide you wanted to have the baby." _And deciding not to be a Death Eater,_ he thought, but decided against saying.

"You could say that was the ultimate weakness, Potter," Malfoy said distractedly. "My father would have me learn a thing or two about detachment." He paused for a moment, frowning, then suddenly extended a hand out to Harry. "Here, give me your hand," he said.

"What for?"

"You said you wanted to feel the baby move, didn't you?" Malfoy told him, beckoning with his fingers impatiently. "Come on already, before she stops."

Harry quickly discarded his apple core and held out his hand, unsure whether to take Malfoy's offered hand or reach for Malfoy's stomach himself. Malfoy grabbed at Harry's wrist and let Harry's hand slip through his fingers, until his fingers were pressed against Harry's palm. His hand was very warm.

"Here," he murmured, placing Harry's hand on the underside of his belly, then withdrew his hand so that Harry's palm lay flat on Malfoy's jumper. They paused for a moment. "Do you feel that?" Malfoy asked softly.

Harry held his breath. He was sure all he could feel was the slightly scratchy wool of Malfoy's jumper, and the warmth of Malfoy's body underneath that, and the sweat that settled into the creases of his own palm. Shaking his head slightly, he was about to pull his hand back when he did feel it. Something bumped against his palm, pressing firmly like the touch of a finger, though less distinct. It brushed by again, almost like a wave, and was gone.

He looked down at his hand as if he expected to see the movement by watching, before looking back up at Malfoy. "Thank you," Harry whispered. He didn't move his hand, however. He didn't want to miss it if the baby felt like moving again. Malfoy met Harry's eyes, then looked away.

"You can, er." he said stiffly. "Stop touching me, now." He gripped the edge of the table behind him, as if he wasn't sure what to do with his hands.

"That was incredible," Harry insisted, keeping his hand in place.

"Yes, well," Malfoy said, still avoiding eye contact. "She also does that to my bladder, which is slightly less fun."

Harry followed Malfoy's gaze to the side, leaning and then tilting his head until he could look at Malfoy directly. Having felt the baby move for the first time made their situation far more real to Harry than it had ever been, and made his proximity to Malfoy seem all the more urgent. He didn't know why he was waiting for Malfoy's eyes to flicker back up to his; he just knew it was important that he wait.

As soon as he caught the first glimpse of grey Harry lunged forward with far less grace than Malfoy had shown earlier, closing his eyes and leaning in until his lips met Malfoy's in a clumsy attempt at a second kiss. Harry found his teeth mashed uncomfortably against his own lips; he pulled back and tried again, opening his mouth this time. Malfoy had done this and made it seem effortless; Harry still felt as though he couldn't get the knack of it.

Malfoy exhaled against Harry's cheek and opened his mouth as well, until their tongues met cautiously between them, swiping against each other, then retreating. Harry reached up to press his hand against the back of Malfoy's neck, but Malfoy pulled away from the touch, breathing shallowly.

"This doesn't bother you at all?" Malfoy asked him, their noses close enough to touch.

Harry decided against saying the first words that came to his mind -- "why should it?" -- because he could immediately think of a dozen reasons why it should. It just didn't, and that was what mattered. "No," Harry said instead. "Does it bother you?"

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Well, considering we have an audience of house elves, yes," he said. Harry jerked away from Malfoy, glancing around, and cursed. Everywhere he looked it seemed there was a house elf determinedly not looking in their direction. The thought that they had been watching him and Malfoy kissing was embarrassing, but not as much as the thought of going through the rest of the day's classes with the kiss on his mind.

"We have to get to class, anyway," he muttered, and Malfoy shook his head.

" _You_ have to get to class," he said, a bitter tone in his voice. "I've had to drop Defense Against the Dark Arts. Madame Pomfrey's orders and all that."

"I'll fill you in later, then," Harry told him quickly, disappointed to find that Ron and Hermione had been right about the possibility Malfoy might not be able to continue taking all of his classes. "With the theory, anyway. Meet me at the Room of Requirement after class?" he asked, exiting the kitchens and holding the door open for Malfoy to get through. He placed a hand on the small of Malfoy's back, feeling the tension there as Malfoy passed. He let his hand drop away.

Malfoy gave him a look, but didn't protest. "It's not like I have anywhere else to be," he declared. "But," he added forcefully, "there's no point to tutoring if I can't sit for the exam."

"There's a point if you ever need to fight," Harry whispered, careful to keep his voice down once they were out in the hall. "If it comes to that. And I can teach you the spells after-- after the baby's born..." he trailed off. He'd never said the words aloud before.

Malfoy hummed noncommittally. "You'll be late to class," he said.

~*~

Malfoy was waiting for Harry when Harry sprinted the rest of the way up the hall to meet him after class. "I've been waiting for you," Malfoy told him, annoyed. "I could have been caught, you know. Not all of us have your ridiculous good luck."

"You wouldn't have been caught, Malfoy," Harry said. "We weren't caught last year until you were looking for us, were we?"

"Like I said," Malfoy repeated. "Your ridiculous good luck." He gestured to the wall, where the door had already appeared. "I'd already been thinking about the room before you got here," he explained.

"Great," Harry grinned. "You don't even need me for this," he joked. "Looks like you've got a handle on it yourself."

"I need you to hold the books," Malfoy said lightly, taking Harry's sleeve between his fingers and tugging him into the room.

Once inside, Harry pulled up short, just behind Malfoy. He closed the door behind him, but kept one hand on the doorknob, feeling distinctly out of place. At Malfoy's mental request, the sofa in the centre of the room was replaced by a chaise lounge with velvet upholstery. The blood-red cushions scattered about the room matched its colouring. A window on the west-facing wall was draped in similarly opulent velvet curtains, also deep red, with silver braided trimmings. The rows of bookshelves they'd been provided earlier were notably absent.

The Room of Requirement looked less like a practice area or study, and more like a lounge. Or a bedroom. _I've walked into a brothel,_ Harry thought, both enthralled and embarrassed.

He shot a panicked glance at Malfoy. "Um," he said. He couldn't stop staring at the chaise lounge. It was bigger than the one Aunt Petunia had in the Dursley's drawing room. It was, Harry thought, big enough for two people. Suddenly Malfoy seemed to be standing very close, and the memory of their kiss raced to the front of Harry's mind.

Malfoy looked just as uncomfortable as Harry felt, and seemed just as riveted by the choice of furniture. "Right," he said uneasily. "Well, maybe if we go out and then come back in--"

"No, wait," Harry said. He frowned at Malfoy. "You conjured this?" he asked. "This is-- you wanted this?" He glanced at the chaise lounge again. "You wanted to..."

"Don't flatter yourself, Potter," Malfoy said sullenly. "I was-- maybe turned on, a little, when I thought up this room. It happens, all right, with the hormones and everything." He shook his head and glared at Harry, as if Harry was responsible. "Not everything has to do with you." He tried to reach around Harry for the doorknob, but Harry remained propped up against it. "Do you mind?" Malfoy asked.

"No," Harry said, and swallowed, trying to keep the hesitation out of his voice. "I don't. Listen, I." He reached out shyly towards Malfoy, his hand just able to reach the side of Malfoy's robes; then he pulled, fingers twisting in the fine material, and Malfoy slowly took the two steps that separated them. "We can leave it like this," Harry murmured.

His head thudded back against the door when they kissed, and he opened his hand to press it flat against Malfoy's waist. Now that they were close, he could feel Malfoy's stomach touching his. It was nice, not distracting, and Harry pushed himself away from the doorknob to prevent it from digging into his back. They shifted sideways to the wall beside the door, and Harry realized that one of Malfoy's hands had slid into the sleeve of Harry's robes. His fingers were kneading Harry's jumper at the forearm, while the other hand lay at the opening of Harry's robes. Malfoy's eyes were closed, his mouth was open against Harry's, and Harry had never been so grateful for the Room of Requirement.

They pulled apart breathlessly, and Harry blinked at Malfoy as if he was a stranger. He still had Malfoy's robes in his fist, and the only thing that was keeping him from pushing his hands inside was the worry that Malfoy would react badly. He wished that Malfoy would do something with the hand resting on the opening of Harry's own robes. "You were turned on," Harry said dumbly. "You never said, I never--"

"It's not exactly as obvious for me anymore, being turned on," Malfoy reminded him, pointedly examining the length of Harry's body, and Harry was stunned to realize that he had indeed forgotten. He wouldn't have minded finding Malfoy's erection beneath the Slytherin's robes, but he didn't suppose he minded it this way, either. Malfoy flicked his wrist swiftly and Harry's robes fell open before Malfoy pressed his spread hand to Harry's chest, fingers and thumb following the lines of Harry's collarbone. Harry kissed him quickly before Malfoy could say anything else.

"I don't care about that," he told Malfoy. "I mean, I'm sorry, but--" and the fastenings on Malfoy's robe came undone easily in his hands-- "I really don't care," he breathed, sliding his hands inside and around Malfoy's waist. He felt dizzy, from both lack of proper oxygen and from having his eyes closed while he and Malfoy sank to the floor. On their knees, they broke apart again, Harry blinking into the seemingly sudden brightness of the room.

Malfoy was gazing at the chaise lounge in the middle of the room as intently as he had been looking at Harry a moment before. "I'm not doing this on the floor," he told Harry, and got back to his feet, shrugging off his robes as he made his way to the sofa. He was surprisingly more able-bodied than Harry had assumed he would be.

"Should we be doing this at all?" he wondered, joining Malfoy at the sofa. He got out of his robes and felt Malfoy's hands on his waist while he pulled his jumper up and over his head. He needed to stop asking Malfoy for confirmation, he knew, but he couldn't stop talking. Malfoy was turned on, Harry was turned on, and sex wasn't the most unlikely thing they could do, after having a baby together.

"Well, I'm not going to waste a perfectly good chaise lounge," Malfoy muttered, helping Harry unbutton his shirt and loosen his tie.

Harry returned the favour, and didn't even pause when the swell of Malfoy's stomach fitted itself under his hands. The crook of Malfoy's neck was startlingly warm and smelled faintly of cologne Harry was certain cost more than Harry's entire wardrobe; Harry forgot all about that when Malfoy had got a hand inside of Harry's pants and curled his fingers around Harry's erection. Harry stroked Malfoy's hips, leaning over him as closely as he could so that they could still kiss while they touched each other.

"You've done this before," he gasped, pushing himself further into Malfoy's hand even as he settled in between Malfoy's legs, without waiting for a response. He knew how this was supposed to work in theory, in a scientific and observant way because he'd read all about it. He knew how it felt to touch himself, how he liked to be touched, but he didn't know how it was all supposed to come together. Not with a girl; not with Malfoy. He just knew he needed to be inside, now.

Malfoy tensed when Harry thrust inside him, biting his lip while Harry sat back and tried to find a comfortable angle. Harry already knew he wouldn't last; the warmth and tightness that had replaced Malfoy's hand were the focus of all his attention, driving his hips forward. He looked down and found Malfoy's eyes narrowed, intense in concentration, and Malfoy panted and tugged on Harry's shoulders as Harry's thrusts grew faster. Harry rocked up into him, seeking friction and pressure and release, gripping Malfoy's hips tightly as he came.

He slid down between Malfoy's body and the back of the chaise lounge when it was over, feeling weary and boneless. Malfoy's body seemed all new to him now, the curve of his shoulder startlingly pale and smooth under Harry's hand. He pressed his lips to the skin, still struggling to catch his breath and Malfoy turned over to examine him. "You really thought I'd done that before?" he asked, propping himself up on an elbow. He seemed strangely relaxed; the slight sheen of perspiration on his forehead was the only sign he'd been exerting himself.

Harry shrugged under Malfoy's scrutiny. "You just seemed," he started. "It was like you knew what you were doing."

"I did have a dick before all this, you know," Malfoy pointed out. "I know how they work." He reached out towards Harry's head, and Harry instinctively closed his eyes. When he felt fingers touch the crown of his head, he peeked and realized that Malfoy was combing through Harry's hair with his fingers. It was an unexpectedly affectionate gesture. "And for your information," Malfoy continued, "I didn't. Hadn't."

"Me neither," Harry said, relieved. He looked down at Malfoy's stomach and placed a palm over it carefully. "Malfoy?" he said, waiting to feel something under his hand. The use of the surname suddenly felt cold and distant to his ears, as cold as it sounded in his own head when he thought about the Slytherin.

"Yes?"

"I'm going to start calling you Draco, I think," Harry declared. 

"Oh," Draco said softly, frowning in thought. He sighed. "Well, I suppose that's all right," he said.

~*~

"... Transparent, but detectable by physical means," Professor Flitwick was saying, "the Imperturbable Charm casts an invisible sound barrier around the subject of the spell, as you can see if you'll check your books...."

"Guys, I need to ask you something," Harry whispered to Ron and Hermione as Professor Flitwick continued to lecture. They'd already had plenty of familiarity with the spell from their summer at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

"Sure, Harry," Hermione told him, deftly flicking her wrist and casting an Imperturbable Charm that enveloped the three of them.

"Incredible," Ron marvelled, poking at it appreciatively. They were supposed to be able to move up to casting the spell on doors and other barriers later, but so far both he and Harry could only cast an Imperturbable Charm that covered one individual at a time.

"Okay," Harry began, licking his lips nervously. "What if-- what if I said I was seeing Malfoy?"

"You mean, like you've been doing all this time?" Ron said absently, still examining Hermione's work.

"No," Harry shook his head. "Not just as an act, I mean."

"As in, really dating him?" Hermione asked him.

"Well," Harry shrugged uneasily. He'd never thought to call it _that_ just yet. "We've. done things. Kissed, and. Well."

"Wait-- you mean on purpose?" Ron asked, raising his eyebrows. Harry nodded. "With _Malfoy_?" Ron said. "I thought you..." he struggled briefly for the words. "I mean, I thought you liked Cho, before," he said carefully.

"I did," Harry explained. "But then she-- well, you know how that turned out. And... well, I like Draco, too. He's all right, you know."

"Well, there's a ringing endorsement for you," Ron scoffed. "And it's 'Draco' now?" He paused in consideration for a moment before his eyes suddenly grew very wide. "Have you been shagging him?" Ron demanded.

"Hey, now!" Harry cried, at the same time that Hermione hissed, "Ron!"

"Well, I just want to know if he's been shagging Malfoy and hasn't told us!" Ron said hotly. When Harry avoided Ron's gaze, Ron scowled. "You have, haven't you!"

"Harry, how long has this been going on?" Hermione asked, and Professor Flitwick chose this moment to pass by to examine Hermione's charm.

"Ah, marvellous work, Miss Granger," he said, delighted, as Hermione dispelled the charm and the three of them busied themselves with their Charms books. "Three at once! Do give it a try now, you two," he told Harry and Ron, before moving on.

Ron cast a very secure Imperturbable Charm around each of their heads before grimacing and dispelling his work. "Hey- that was great, Ron," Harry told him.

"Sure, as long as none of us want to talk to each other," Ron grumbled.

Hermione placed a guiding hand under Ron's elbow, a surprisingly tender gesture that made Harry feel like he was intruding on a private moment. "Try it now," Hermione murmured, and Ron re-cast the charm around them, successfully this time. 

"See?" she said, smiling up at Ron with her hand still on his arm. "It's just a matter of balance." Turning back to Harry, she repeated her question. "How long have you and Malfoy been together, Harry?"

"Not very," Harry admitted. "It sort of... just happened, I guess. We haven't really talked about it," he added. "It just-- felt right."

"Oh, of course," Ron said, practicing the gesture Hermione had just helped him with. "'It felt right,' he says. With _Malfoy_!"

"I thought you didn't mind him so much anymore," Harry challenged him, checking to make sure that Professor Flitwick was safely on the other side of the room.

"There's not minding him," Ron said, "and then there's _shagging_ him. Not minding him, I can understand!" He jabbed at the air with his wand so violently that he nearly poked a hole in the Imperturbable Charm.

"We're just saying this sounds serious, Harry," Hermione said, tugging Ron's hand away from the edges of the spell as she spoke. "It makes sense, though, with all the time you've had to spend together, working so closely, that you might fall in--"

"I'm not in love with him," Harry cut her off, frustrated. Why everyone seemed to jump to this conclusion was beyond him.

"Oh, that would be _really_ weird," Ron agreed, tentatively waving his wand.

"It makes sense that you might grow fond of each other, then," Hermione amended. She tilted her head. "So," she said, uncomfortable, "is it just the... sex?"

"Hermione," Ron moaned, putting his face in his hands.

Harry felt himself blushing, and glanced around the room to make sure nobody was paying attention, even with the charm hovering over them. "Why are you-- I don't ask you two about your sex life, do I?" he asked.

"Well, neither of us is shagging Draco Malfoy," Ron pointed out.

"And the fact that it's Draco Malfoy means there's more to consider here," Hermione said.

"It's going to be awfully weird, isn't it, when the baby's born and Draco changes back to normal?" Ron wanted to know.

Harry dispelled Ron's charm, thinking of their frantic groping in the Room of Requirement, how he hadn't known what to do with his hands, the way Draco had tensed and arched his back. He didn't see how much weirder things could get. Imitating the motion Hermione had shown Ron, he cast the Imperturbable Charm over all three of their heads. "It won't be weird," he said finally, "I don't think. Just-- different."

Hermione had the quiet, thoughtful look on her face that Harry knew meant she was planning something. "Meet me in the library after class, would you, Harry?" she said.

Harry and Ron exchanged glances, before Ron became very interested in the classroom ceiling.

~*~

Harry looked up at Hermione, as much as he could without actually meeting her eyes. "I don't think I've ever been this embarrassed in my life," he admitted.

Hermione waved her hand dismissively. "Well, there's no need to be," she said, but her eyes were focused on the book beneath her hand. "This is all so perfectly natural, and the more you know, the more you'll, er--"

"Want to do it?" Harry suggested, making a face, and Hermione blushed.

"I don't suppose your Muggle school taught you much about sex before you came to Hogwarts," she guessed.

Harry shrugged. "We did watch a film about puberty," he said. "I've read books, before. There were diagrams-- I can name things, if you like."

"It's not naming them that's as important as finding them," Hermione told him. "Or knowing what to do when you've found them."

"I think you've made that point very clear, thank you," he said, glancing back down at the book before him. The woman in one of the illustrations writhed in silent pleasure as her partner performed some truly deft finger maneuvers on her. Draco hadn't writhed like that in the Room of Requirement, but then Harry hadn't done that with his hands, either. "I feel sort of stupid," Harry added. "I didn't really-- have any idea," he finished, sighing. He glanced at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. "You didn't need to show these to Ron, did you?"

"Well, _everybody_ needs a little help..." Hermione began, even more of a flush creeping up from the collar of her shirt. "I didn't learn these things on my own, either, you know," she said. "You don't need to feel a failure just because you didn't know everything right away."

"Draco might not see it that way," Harry mumbled, turning the page in his book aggressively. On the next page he could only see the backs of the woman's legs and her partner's head.

Hermione hugged Harry from the side. "I'm sure it wasn't that bad," she assured him. "He's still talking to you, isn't he?"

"That doesn't exactly make for a good relationship by itself, does it," Harry said drily.

"Maybe not," Hermione allowed, "but with Malfoy, I'd say it's a start."

~*~

Professor Dumbledore suggested that it would be best if Draco refrained from going on the Hogsmeade weekends for the rest of his pregnancy, now that the news was reaching the wizarding community at large. Both Harry and Draco knew that a suggestion from Dumbledore was as good as an order, so the next Hogsmeade weekend, Harry stayed behind, too.

He would never have imagined that one day he would voluntarily give up his Hogsmeade privileges in order to keep Draco company, but they really did need to practice for the birth. The weekends afforded them more opportunities for that than the evenings. And with the dorms empty, Harry reasoned, they could get around having to use the Room of Requirement every time they wanted to be alone.

"I do agree with you, strangely enough," Draco told Harry when Harry suggested using his dorm for practice sessions Saturday afternoon. "I'd just think you'd rather spend time on the Quidditch pitch than doing this." They made their way up the staircase leading to Gryffindor Tower.

Harry shrugged. "I've practiced plenty already," he said, and it was true. It was also true that he would probably be on the pitch right now, if it weren't for Draco. He didn't want to dwell on it, though, and risk making Draco jealous because he couldn't play. "Why," Harry went on. "What would you rather be doing?"

Draco shook his head. "I didn't say I'd rather be doing anything," he said. "I'm merely questioning your motives." He curled his lip at the portrait of the Fat Lady, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Rhubarb flan," Harry told her, and she swung open, raising an eyebrow at the pair of students. Harry just knew that she would immediately leave to gossip with the other portraits once he and Draco were inside. _Well, let them talk_ , Harry thought. The school year was almost over, and so was the worst of it, as far as he was concerned.

"If we keep out of the common room," he explained to Draco, passing him and crossing the room quickly, "we shouldn't run into anyone until after supper, probably." Sensing that Draco was not behind him, Harry paused at the foot of the stairs up to the dorm and looked back.

Draco was still standing in the middle of the common room, eyeing the comfortable chairs by the fireplace. "So this is where you lot spend all your time, is it," he commented. "It's very..." he glanced up and around. "Red," he finished, putting his hands into his robes and resting them over his stomach.

Harry sighed. "Did you want to stay down here, or will you come with me?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm coming," he said, starting up the stairs behind Harry. "It's just such a lot of red, really."

It wasn't any more red than the Room of Requirement had been the night they'd slept together, but Harry refrained from commenting. "And here's the dorm," he said instead, coming to a stop by his four-poster bed. He sat, suddenly unsure of what to do next.

"So," Draco said, sitting down next to Harry. He gave Harry an expectant look and leaned in close. "Did you bring me here in some attempt to seduce me, or what?"

"I thought you were the one who did that," Harry commented.

"Fair enough," Draco admitted, and gestured to himself. "Me being turned on all the time and whatnot." He closed the distance between them with his eyes closed. Harry kept his eyes open; he didn't see how he could navigate anything otherwise.

Kissing Draco was always nice, and Harry was beginning to believe he could do it all day, especially when Draco sucked lightly on Harry's bottom lip and rested his fingers along the side of Harry's neck. It brought to memory all the heady sensations of that night, and Harry could already feel himself start to press Draco back into his bed before he reluctantly pulled away.

"Actually," Harry said, wiping at his mouth self-consciously, "I really just wanted to talk with you."

Draco looked up at Harry from where he leaned back on his elbows on the bed. "You just... wanted to talk," he repeated, flatly.

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "I just wanted to make sure everything was okay," he said. When Draco didn't say anything, Harry stifled a sigh. "So... is everything okay?"

"Yes," Draco said, looking at Harry strangely. "Everything's fine."

"Er-- good. Good," Harry nodded, and the two settled into an uncomfortable silence. Harry stared down at his trainers and tried to think of something to say. When he'd first arrived at Hogwarts, he couldn't touch the floor while sitting on the bed. He couldn't remember when that had changed.

He was almost going to ask Draco if the Slytherin had slept well the previous night when Draco struggled upright and said, "well, listen, Potter, this is all very fascin--"

"Harry," interjected Harry, quietly. "I already said you could call me that."

Draco faltered. "--Harry, right," he said. "This has been fascinating, but I'd really rather be--"

"I don't know what I'm doing," Harry blurted.

"Oh, that's pretty obvious," drawled Draco.

"No, I mean, this--" Harry shook his head hard. "I'm trying to be honest with you here," he insisted. "And sometimes you act like it's such a chore to spend time with me. It would be so much easier if you would just be impossible to deal with all the time, you know."

"Yes, well, if I could cast a spell without blowing anything up," Draco snapped, "I'd curse your bollocks off and see how you like it, but we can't always get what we want, can we." He rested a hand on his stomach and glowered at it. "I miss my bollocks, Potter," he said sullenly. "I want them back."

 _Oh_ , Harry thought. "Harry," he corrected Draco, then added, "is this about the other night, then?"

"This is about the past seven months," Draco muttered. "Er-- Harry."

"Because," Harry continued, now unable to look Draco in the face, "I thought you were-- wanted-- you know. I thought you, well. Liked it."

Draco gave Harry a blank look, his gray eyes wide. "Oh. Sure," he said.

"This is _exactly_ what I'm talking about!" Harry exploded. His voice was alarmingly loud in the empty dorm. "If I was so bloody awful, why didn't you say something? Why did you even bother to shag me?"

"Because you've taught me anyone can be reformed," Draco shot back.

Harry jabbed a finger at Draco. "See," he cried, "it's like one minute you act like you hate me, and the next minute you want to shag, and just-- look, can you stand me or not? Just tell me," he sighed, "because this is _stupid_."

Draco stared hard at Harry for a long moment, before sighing as well. "All right," he said, laying back on Harry's pillows. "All right. I'm not fine."

Harry frowned, but was unsurprised. "Okay," was all he said.

"I'm getting fatter by the day," Draco said. "I can't see my own feet anymore. I haven't been on a broom in three months, and my back hurts, and so do my feet. I miss my father, and I _want_ my mother." He shot Harry a warning glance. "I don't expect you to understand that."

"What," Harry scoffed, "understand what it's like to miss somebody? Are you joking?"

"You do gloat a lot, about my father being in Azkaban and all," Draco pointed out. "So no, I didn't think you'd understand. He's still my father, you know," he added, defensively.

It suddenly occurred to Harry that Draco might know what it was like to discover his father wasn't the wonderful person he'd once believed in. Even if the father in question was Lucius Malfoy. "No, I do know," Harry told Draco softly, crawling up the bed to stretch out next to him. "I do understand."

"And I-- can stand you, most of the time," Draco admitted, looking up at the ceiling.

"That's. encouraging," Harry said uncertainly.

"I mean, you... listen to me," Draco said. "Which is different from simply being in the same room as I am while I talk. It's-- it can be nice. When you're not bumbling around trying to be helpful all the time, anyway."

Harry rolled his eyes, but inwardly he was quite relieved. "So it's not just the sex, then," he smirked.

"Well, I wasn't lying about always being turned on, either," Draco added.

There went all those feelings again, rushing back into Harry's head. He recalled the illustrations and notes in Hermione's library book, and put a tentative hand on Draco's thigh. "Did you _want_ me to bring you up here to seduce you?" he asked, as Draco turned to him, close enough to kiss again.

"Well, I wanted you to _try_ ," Draco murmured against Harry's mouth, and his eyes drifted closed when Harry inched his hand further between Draco's legs. They kissed slowly, lazily, and Harry tentatively moved his fingers until Draco broke the kiss, staring at Harry like he had never seen him before.

"Was I that awful before?" Harry asked Draco again, both speeding up a bit and wanting to cringe, all at the same time.

"Pretty bloody awful," Draco admitted, sighing and shuddering slightly. He reached out and gripped Harry's free arm at the elbow. "God, Potter," he said, breathing noticeably harder.

Harry let the name slip go without comment, and looked down to hide his smile. "I've been reading," he explained, flexing his wrist to ease some of the tension out of it. The change in angle made Draco gasp.

"Reading what," Draco said, " _Witch Weekly_?" He leaned farther back on the bed and let go of Harry in order to unbutton his jeans. Harry leaned over Draco and kissed him while Draco got their trousers out of the way. Draco's answer could wait until later.

Moving closer so that he could press his erection into Draco's thigh, Harry slid his hand inside Draco's pants, enjoying the feel of bare skin beneath his fingers. Draco clutched at Harry's shirt, gathering the fabric in one fist and reaching into Harry's pants with the other. Harry pushed himself into Draco's hand, rocking his hips, and panted against Draco's cheek.

The sounds Draco made in his throat when he came made Harry more turned on than he'd ever been in his life, and his own orgasm soon followed. He buried his face into the pillow next to Draco while they both caught their breath. "That wasn't awful, was it?" he asked, as soon as he could say it normally.

"No, that was better," Draco agreed.

~*~

The next Monday, Harry received an owl from Mr. Weasley (though Harry suspected Mrs. Weasley had had a hand in it) telling him off for not letting anyone know about Draco's decision to keep the baby. Harry didn't see how that was so different from withholding news of Voldemort, but he supposed he had Snape to thank for keeping both parties informed of the latest developments.

Mrs. Weasley also sent a note and a baby-sized knitted jumper, complete with tiny booties, all in pink. _"Because we hear it's a girl,"_ she wrote. Her excitement was evident, even on paper. Harry imagined she must have missed out, having only one daughter among six boys.

Remus sent Harry a couple more textbooks, including one on the joys of childbirth that was rather more graphically illustrated than Harry would have liked. Draco went quite pale when Harry showed it to him in the Room of Requirement.

"I'm supposed to learn to breathe properly," Draco said, pointing, "so I can do _that_?"

Harry hooked his chin over Draco's shoulder to see the picture while he massaged Draco's back. He grimaced. "I don't think there's any kind of preparation you can do for that," he muttered. Some photographs didn't have to move to be terrifying, he thought.

"Thanks ever so much for the support," Draco told him sarcastically. "I keep thinking the baby could come any day now," he continued. "I mean, it's nearly June already. Just because Madame Pomfrey's got the due date narrowed down to a week doesn't mean it couldn't go earlier, or later."

"You mean you would rather not know?" Harry moved his hands farther down as he worked on Draco's muscles.

"I mean I would rather it be over with sooner rather than later," Draco said. "That feels good," he added. "What you're doing. And the baby's going to need a name soon, in any case."

"Are you sure it's a girl, then?" Harry asked Draco.

Draco nodded. "Yeah," he said, leaning further back against Harry. "What do you think I should call her?"

Harry drew back his hands. "You know," he said carefully. "You've decided an awful lot of things about this baby by yourself. Don't you think it's time I got to contribute?"

"That's what I said," Draco told him, glancing over his shoulder. "I asked you what _you_ thought _I_ should call her." He narrowed his eyes in thought. "Francesca?" he suggested suddenly.

Harry frowned. "Fran _cine_ ," he argued.

Draco made a face. "Francine _Malfoy_? That sounds ridiculous."

"Oh, like Francesca _Potter_ sounds better?" Harry met Draco's glare. He sighed and sat back on his hands. "Anyway, I think we should be using my last name, since we'll be living on my property."

"And I have blood ties to that mansion, as you well know," Draco pointed out. "My mother should probably have the final word on the name, too," he added.

"Over my dead body," Harry told him. "She can keep all her words to herself, final or otherwise." He considered for a moment. "I'll agree to go with something French," he allowed, "if it's really important to you."

Draco smirked. "How generous of you. And I don't need it to be French. I just need it to not be stupid."

Harry sat up and wrapped his arms around Draco from behind, resting his hands on Draco's stomach. His arms barely went all the way around Draco anymore, and Harry marvelled at how much Draco had grown even in the past couple of weeks. "Can I at least choose the middle name?" Harry asked.

"Depends on if you're going to say 'Lily' or not," Draco said.

Harry started to scowl, but then the baby moved beneath his hands and an involuntary smile tugged at his lips. "It's the best way I can think of to honour her memory, Draco," he said. "I know you know a thing or two about honour."

"Oh, appeal to my sense of honour, why don't you," Draco sighed. "Fine," he said. "Lily for the middle name, then. And for the first...." He paused. "Abigail," he suggested.

Harry made a face into the back of Draco's neck. "You're crap at this naming thing. All those L's."

"Well... my great-grandmother's name was Azura," Draco said finally. "I've always liked that one."

"It's very pretty," Harry agreed. "You don't suppose she was a Death Eater, do you?" he wondered.

"She lived before the Dark Lord's time," Draco murmured. "Though she probably wouldn't be thrilled with the whole mudblood thing, either." He caught himself before Harry could interject, and shook his head. "Muggle-born, Muggle-born, sorry, all right."

"Azura Lily, huh," Harry mused aloud, trying it out. "Azura Lily Potter."

"Malfoy," Draco said.

~*~

Gryffindor defeated Hufflepuff 180-0 in the final Quidditch match of the season, granting the Gryffindor team with just enough points to secure the Quidditch Cup.

"You were brilliant," Harry told Ron, grinning, as they stripped out of their uniforms after the game. "I should probably have waited a bit longer before going for the snitch."

"We could've humiliated them a bit more, I think," Ron beamed. "But it was good enough for the Cup, so it's good enough for me." He paused in reaching for his clean clothes. "Are you staying for the party?" he asked. "I don't suppose Malfoy'll be there."

Harry frowned, considering. "I really don't know," he confessed. "I'll pop by for a bit and then go looking for him later, I guess."

It turned out that Draco was waiting for Harry outside the locker rooms. He was still in his robes, while the other students were stripping theirs off due to the heat and the thrill of celebration. "Congratulations," Draco said, handing Harry a Butterbeer and nodding in greeting when Ron passed. "Weasley."

Ron nodded back. "Hullo Malfoy," he said. "How are you doing these days?"

Draco shrugged. "Fit to burst," he said matter-of-factly.

"Ah, great...." Ron gave him an uneasy grin. "See you in the common room later, then, Harry?"

"Sure," Harry said, and waved, before Draco pulled him away by the sleeve of his jumper. "Wait-- what? I haven't even finished my Butterbeer yet!" he protested.

"Shut up," Draco told him. "We're going back to your dormitory."

Harry raised his eyebrows and lowered his Butterbeer. "Where no one is right now," he said slowly.

Draco took the bottle from him. "Exactly."

~*~

The end of June brought final examinations and the countdown to the end of the school year. It would also bring, Harry hoped, a healthy end to Draco's pregnancy. Harry and Draco went through the rest of Remus's books quickly, and between that and the study sessions with Ron and Hermione in the library, Harry was certain his head was overloaded with information. Any day now, he was sure, he was going to forget his address, or his birthday.

Instead of studying the night before his Potions final, Harry found himself staring at the pristine white pages of the journal Hermione had given him for Christmas. He felt a pang of regret that he hadn't done more to keep up with the journal over the past several months. Getting out his quill and inkpot, he turned to the first page.

_Name: Azura Lily Potter  
Born on:  
Weight:  
Length:  
Eyes:  
Hair:  
Looks like:_

~*~

The Potions final went without incident, mostly because Snape deferred Draco's practical portion of the exam until after the birth. Harry tied with Hermione for top marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and cast a flawless Imperturbable Charm during his Charms final.

"Harry, did you hear?" Hermione greeted Harry breathlessly in the hallway after the Charms exam, since she had finished earlier than the other students. "Apparently Malfoy's water broke in the middle of the Arithmancy final and--"

"What?" Harry was immediately alert, glancing down the hall in both directions behind Hermione. "Where is he?"

"Well, _now_ he's in the hospital wing with Madame Pomfrey," Hermione told him. "But he actually stayed and sat for the whole Arithmancy exam, can you believe? Everybody's talking about it--"

"He couldn't be _that_ ridiculous," Ron breathed, wide-eyed.

"I'd imagine he was embarrassed, actually," Hermione admitted. "It must have been awfully awkward. Lavender Brown said the proctor asked Malfoy if he needed anything and he just said 'a Scouring Charm, please', and that was that. He went straight up to see Madame Pomfrey afterwards, though."

"You don't know if he's all right then?" Harry started to push against the flow of the students, craning his neck to look in the direction of the hospital wing. "I should go see him--"

"Harry, no!" Hermione put a hand on his chest to stop him. "You know the labour could take hours, even _days_ , and he's in good hands with Madame Pomfrey there. Malfoy will get dispensation to take his exams later; you won't." Her face softened. "You won't be missing anything, I promise," she assured him.

"We only have one more final left anyway, Harry," Ron said sympathetically, patting Harry on the shoulder. "Just get through this one and you're done."

There was no way Harry would be able to concentrate on Transfiguration while Draco was giving birth, no matter how long it would take. "I don't think I'm going to do very well on the Transfiguration final, guys," he said.

"Then just be happy we're not writing our N.E.W.T.s this year," Ron told him.

"Tell me about it," Harry muttered, taking one last look down the hall before following Hermione through the crowd for their last exam.

~*~

News of Draco's labour had spread quickly through the halls, and there was a distinct buzz of curiosity and excitement in the air as the Transfiguration students gathered for their final exam. Harry rushed through his essay questions, only writing the minimum and hoping that would be enough, or that Professor McGonagall would be sympathetic about his situation.

He felt only marginally better when Neville accidentally Vanished the contents of his inkpot during the practical portion of the exam; at least someone else was having a rough go of it as well, Harry thought. He finished his own exam in record time, racing up between the desks to hand his parchments to an amused McGonagall. Without stopping, he spun on his heel and sprinted for the door, and the hospital wing beyond.

"I came as soon as I could," he panted, as he burst through the doors of the infirmary and headed down the aisle separating the rows of beds.

His first thought was that it was strange that the infirmary should be almost completely dim, except for the faint light from a corner bed. His second thought was that everyone must have been evacuated for a reason; that maybe he'd missed everything, maybe the baby had already arrived, and Draco would sneer and sarcastically thank Harry for showing up. 

But Madame Pomfrey emerged from her office in the back, rubbing her hands together briskly. "There's no need to run, Harry, I assure you," she said, coming around to meet him. "This baby isn't ready to be born yet." 

Harry slowed as she led him towards the far corner. "But," he said, "I thought Draco had... everyone was talking about it. It's been hours, and--" 

"And it'll be hours still," Madame Pomfrey said, drawing back the curtain. "I'll have you know a certain someone has been asking for you all afternoon." 

Draco lay on his side facing Harry, covered in blankets and propped up on one elbow. He looked bored and tired when he glanced up at Harry. "It's about bloody time you came," he murmured. 

Harry grinned. "Well, you had to go and pick today of all days, didn't you," he said. "How far apart are the contractions?" he asked Madame Pomfrey. 

She flicked her wand at Draco's bed and a white glowing ball of light flew from the nightstand table into her hand. Examining it, she turned it over and pronounced, "thirty minutes, last I checked." 

"You can stop talking about me like I'm not here," Draco told them. 

"Yes, of course, Draco," Madame Pomfrey said absently, then looked up at Harry. "You might want to make yourself comfortable, then," she told him. She gestured to the chair next to the bed. "I've got plenty of spare blankets and pillows; you'll be needing those, if you're spending the night-- and ah, look: here comes a contraction now." 

"What? A contraction? Really?" Harry demanded, watching as the ball in Pomfrey's hands glowed, first a brighter shade of white, then turning increasingly yellow. As the ball pulsed the colour of the noonday sun, Harry reached out instinctively towards Draco, and Draco wrapped his fingers around Harry's wrist. "Ow-- wait," Harry protested, when Draco squeezed, grinding the bones together. "At least hang on to my fingers, you'll break-- _ow_!" 

Madame Pomfrey smirked at him. "He's been waiting hours to do just that," she said. "I tried casting a Numbing spell on him earlier and it just rolled off him like water on a duck, poor thing." 

"I'm _still. here_ ," Draco snapped from between clenched teeth, twisting Harry's wrist so that Harry had to writhe to keep his hand attached to his body. Draco closed his eyes, a line appearing between his eyebrows, then deepening. "Fuck," he muttered. "Sodding bloody fucking hell."

Harry got Draco to hold on to his fingers instead, and let Draco squeeze those until the joints were all crushed together and Harry couldn't feel them anymore. "Less talking, more breathing-- deeply, now," he said, trying to take charge like he imagined a good birthing coach would do. 

"That doesn't make the pain go _away_ , you idiot," Draco snarled, but he took a few deep breaths after that, still squeezing Harry's hand. In another moment the contraction was over, and Draco sighed and let go of Harry. He slumped back onto the pillows behind him, holding his stomach tenderly. "Bastard," he muttered, and squirmed a bit in discomfort. "Bloody Muggle medicine." 

"Well," Madame Pomfrey was again examining the ball she held; as Harry shook the numbness from his hand, he noticed that the ball had gone white again. "That one was a bit stronger than what you'd been having, wasn't it, Draco? It could be sooner than we thought, after all." 

"How wonderful," Draco said flatly, but Harry's breath caught in his throat. 

"So," he ventured, "she may be born sometime tonight?"

Madame Pomfrey snorted and handed the ball to Harry. "Oh, I didn't mean _that_ soon," she said.

~*~

Harry dozed off and on throughout the night, curled uncomfortably in the chair beside Draco's bed. Every so often the room would light up in increasing shades of orange in time with Draco's contractions, and Harry soon learned to sleep in ten-minute intervals with one hand extended onto Draco's bed for easy grasping.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been sleeping when Madame Pomfrey shook him lightly by the shoulder. "Harry, wake up," she whispered, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. "You have some visitors."

Harry struggled to sit upright, rolling his neck to work out some of the kinks. "What time is it?" he muttered.

"Just after seven in the morning."

Harry felt as though he hadn't slept a wink, let alone the whole night -- even if the sleep was in bits and pieces. He looked over at Draco as if he could monitor Draco's status just by looking. Harry hoped that the Slytherin was managing to sleep for a quick moment, because Draco's eyes were closed. The line between Draco's eyebrows refused to go away between contractions anymore.

"I don't know if I should leave him," Harry whispered to Madame Pomfrey, glancing up at her.

"Oh, don't be silly," Madame Pomfrey said, pulling Harry up by the hand. "They're right outside."

Hermione and Ron were waiting on the other side of the great doors to the infirmary, looking anxious, but considerably more well-rested than Harry felt. "Has anything happened yet?" Hermione asked Harry, when he'd closed the doors behind him.

"No," Harry shook his head. "Madame Pomfrey warned us that shouldn't expect anything until this morning, though."

Hermione winced at that. "How's Malfoy doing?" she asked.

Harry rubbed at his wrist dolefully. "He's... it's painful," he admitted. "He's cursed a lot, but he hasn't threatened to kill me yet," he added brightly, then frowned. "I'm a bit surprised by that, actually."

"Well, you look like you haven't slept at all, mate," said Ron, shaking his head. "How much longer do you think this'll take?" 

"Dunno at this point," Harry said, shrugging. "I've been napping between the contractions, and they've started to come closer together. But it's not like I've got the worst of it, you know?" 

"You should probably get back in there, then," Hermione pointed out. "Don't let us keep you."

"She's right, Harry," Ron agreed. "It's just-- everyone's been talking about it, you know. In the common room they're betting on the time of birth and everything." He smirked. "Ginny and Seamus have lost already."

Madame Pomfrey pushed open the infirmary doors, causing Harry to stumble forward from where he'd been leaning. "Harry," she said, "I think you'll want to be here for this."

Harry shot a nervous look at Ron, but Hermione let go of her boyfriend long enough to pet Harry's shoulder comfortingly. "We'll be waiting in the common room, Harry," she told him as she and Ron reluctantly started down the hall. Walking slowly backwards so that she could continue facing Harry, she added, "let us know as _soon_ as you can when the baby gets here!"

"You'll be the first to know," Harry promised her.

~*~

Draco pushed for half an hour before deciding that he'd had quite enough of childbirth. "All right," he gasped, sweat making his hand slick within Harry's grip, "I quit. I've changed my mind. This is ridiculous."

"It's perfectly natural for you to want to give up at this stage," Pomfrey said smoothly, from her position between Draco's legs. "But I'm afraid you don't get a vote; no quitting until this is all over." She straightened up a bit. "Hold off with the pushing for a moment, will you, until the next contraction?"

"No," Draco insisted. "You don't understand-- I'm finished, here. There's absolutely nothing natural about feeling like I'm about to split open." He sat back against the pillows. "You'll just have to find another way, I'm afraid."

"Remarkable creatures, those Muggles," Madame Pomfrey said to Harry, ignoring Draco entirely. "Don't know how they do it, really. Well, I'm sure you'll survive, Draco - one more big push and that should be all we need from you." She nodded at Harry. "Would you care to come round here and watch?"

Harry took as large a step backward as his grasp on Draco's hand would allow. He'd seen enough from Remus's illustrated textbooks to know better. "No," he said hastily. "No, I'm fine where I am, thanks."

The room took on an increasingly red glow, and Madame Pomfrey examined the pulsing light from the ball in the corner of the room sternly. "Last one, Draco," she announced, as Draco groaned softly and turned his head away from Harry, his face tensing with pain. "Quitter or not, this'll be the one to do it."

"I can't, I won't," Draco moaned, but he slowly propped himself back up on his elbows nonetheless. "I'm so bloody tired--"

"Push!" Madame Pomfrey barked, and Draco pushed. He bore down and tightened his hold on Harry's hand using strength Harry didn't even realize Draco possessed. Harry let Draco squeeze, and very pointedly avoided looking anywhere below Draco's waist.

Focussing on Draco's white knuckles and the numb tingling up his own arm, Harry soon realized that Draco wasn't breathing as he pushed. "Stop holding your breath," Harry whispered to him. "Breathe out, Draco, breathe out."

"Fuck you-- _you_ breathe out," Draco hissed back fiercely.

Harry sighed, knowing it was no use to argue. "Okay," he said. He placed his free hand on top of Draco's head, letting Draco's damp hair slip through his fingers. He rubbed his thumb over Draco's forehead in an attempt to smooth out the creases there.

After a moment, Madame Pomfrey began to make excited noises; Harry resisted the slight urge to get a glimpse of what she was looking at, and realized that he was holding his own breath, too. There was a heartbeat's more worth of silence before Madame Pomfrey burst into a wide grin and cooed, "well, here she is, then!" and another heartbeat later Harry heard Azura's first cries.

"Here-- here, Harry," Madame Pomfrey said brusquely, quickly casting a Scouring Charm on Azura and wrapping the baby in a blanket. After gently depositing Azura into Harry's arms, she thrust a cup at Draco. "And you - drink this," she ordered him, forcing the cup to his lips.

Draco sluggishly rubbed at the side of his face, which was still flushed with exertion. "What _is_ this?" he asked, peering into the cup distastefully.

"You'll need to keep up your strength if you're to argue with me any longer," she shot back, casting a quick Scouring Charm on her hands. "Just drink it and ask questions later."

Harry looked down at the bundle in his arms. _Azura_ , he thought, staring at her. She didn't look much like an Azura, but she didn't look much like anything at all, yet. Her hair was quite dark, but not black like his, and her eyes were very dark blue, though he supposed that was the case for all newborn babies. There was something to the set of her mouth that reminded him of Draco, and the point of her chin was Malfoy through and through.

Draco set down his now-emptied cup and peered over Harry's elbow at Azura. "Looks kind of like a monkey, doesn't she," he commented.

"Quiet, you," Harry murmured absently, still watching her. She was very pink in the face, and only slightly scrunched up in his arms. "She's possibly the prettiest thing I've ever seen."

Draco scoffed. "There's no need to lie. It's perfectly respectable to look like a monkey for the first few hours after birth." Still, he looked into Azura's face for a long moment, studying her, before yawning mightily.

Harry took his first real look at Draco since Azura had been born. The Slytherin looked both very relieved and very tired. "How do you feel? Any different?" Harry asked him, just as Azura let out a squawk that threatened to turn into a longer cry. Touching the side of her face with his index finger, Harry smiled when she turned her head toward his touch.

Draco shook his head. "Tired," he said, yawning again. "Sore, and... kind of-- empty." He paused and stretched experimentally. "Very sore," he added. "How long before this curse on me reverses itself, anyway, Madame Pomfrey?"

"Hmm?" Madame Pomfrey came out from her office holding a baby bottle full of formula. "Oh, that should be sometime in the next twelve hours," she said, setting the bottle down. "You should rest up for it," she told Draco, reaching for Azura as she spoke. "You've been awake for over a day, and I assure you, with a newborn, this could be the last sleep you get for some time."

When Harry gave their daughter over to Madame Pomfrey, she gestured to the other beds in the infirmary. "That means you, too, Harry -- you should get your sleep as well. Have a stretch out on one of the beds and I'll wake you in a few hours when--" she faltered. "What are you calling the child?"

"Azura Lily," Harry and Draco said, then exchanged glances. "We haven't decided on which last name to use, yet," Harry explained.

"Right," Pomfrey nodded. "Well, I'll wake you when she needs feeding, then - if she doesn't wake you first."

Harry recalled his promise to Hermione, and the journal she had given him. "Actually," he said, "I'll need to stop by my dorm for a bit first."

~*~

Harry arrived at the Gryffindor common room to find more students than he'd expected, quietly gathered and waiting patiently. He could make out Ginny, who stood next to Neville, Seamus and Dean; and there was Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, and the Creevy brothers, who looked as shell-shocked as Harry felt. Ron and Hermione stood up from their seats in the middle of it all, and rushed over to greet Harry. Everyone shouted out questions as Harry made his way through the crowd on his way to the stairs.

"Is she really here, Harry?"

"How big was she--"

"--must've been painful--"

"Who does she look like--"

"--Not Malfoy, I hope!"

"Does she have any hair?"

"I guess that means you win the pool, Dennis--"

"She's got all her toes and fingers, hasn't she?"

Harry looked around at them all and grinned. "She's fine," he said, "yes, she's here, and she looks like both of us, and she's got loads of hair, and she's about--" he held out his hands in a rough estimation of size-- "this big, and she's hardly even cried yet." He laughed suddenly, still a bit stunned that he was actually a father. It didn't seem real at all yet.

He made fast work of retrieving his journal -- _Azura's journal, really_ , he reminded himself -- and making his way back through the common room on his way to the infirmary. When he returned, Madame Pomfrey had set up a bassinet in the corner by Draco's bed. Azura slept inside, while Draco lay with his eyes closed on the bed next to her. Harry sat down quietly on Draco's bed to avoid disturbing either of them.

As Harry copied down Azura's statistics, Draco stirred and opened his eyes.

"What is that?" he asked, his gaze on the book in Harry's hands.

Harry glanced down at it. "It's a journal," he explained, "for the baby, that Hermione gave me at Christmas. I'm sort of using it to-- document, I guess."

"Like: 'Born today' and that sort of thing?"

"Well, yeah," Harry nodded. "And--" he checked the page-- "that she's twenty inches long, for example. And that I think she looks more like me than you, at the moment."

Draco closed his eyes again. "So I was right about her looking like a monkey, then," he said.

"You're funnier when you're more awake," Harry told him. "I'm putting her full name on here," he went on, "so we need to agree on what we'll call her. I wrote 'Azura Lily Potter', but I don't want to argue anymore. I'll change it if you want me to."

"Why can't you just add 'Malfoy' to that?" asked Draco.

"So she'll have both our names?"

"Well, I reckon she's both of ours, isn't she?" Draco said.

Harry looked down at the book and poised his quill, before hesitating. It was suddenly very important to him that he get it just right. Combining their names seemed to signify a much larger step for the two of them. It sounded very much like a partnership, Harry realized. "Does the order matter to you?" he asked.

"Not at all," Draco said drowsily. "It's the 'Malfoy' bit everyone will remember, anyway."

"Whatever," Harry muttered, and carefully wrote Draco's name in.

_Name: Azura Lily Potter Malfoy  
Born on: 26 June  
Weight: 7 lbs. 1 oz.  
Length: 20 inches  
Eyes: Blue (I think?)  
Hair: Brown  
Looks like: Potter hair, Malfoy chin (I feel sorry for her already!)_

~*~

When Harry woke up in the bed next to Draco's, Draco was already awake and fully dressed. Harry groped for his glasses and put them on, then stared; it was a completely foreign sight to him, seeing Draco in an ordinary Hogwarts uniform again.

If he either noticed or cared about Harry's scrutiny, Draco didn't show it. Rocking Azura's bassinet with one hand, he nodded at Harry. "Good afternoon," he said. "We'll have missed lunch already today."

"How long have you been up?" Harry asked, stretching and rubbing his eyes. "Why didn't anyone wake me?" He felt remarkably well-rested.

Draco shrugged. "Madame Pomfrey's giving us some time, I think. She says I'm well enough to leave, but I've been up for a fair while," he said. "The curse reversed itself, so--"

Harry sat up immediately. Draco, returned to his natural state. It was just as strange a thought as the glimpse Harry caught of Draco's considerably flatter stomach. "Really?" Harry grinned. "That's fantastic!" He started to get out of bed, swinging his feet down onto the floor.

"--so I haven't felt much like sleeping," Draco finished, glancing down at himself briefly. He looked over at the wall in the far corner of the room. "Listen," he said abruptly, "you can go, all right? I was only supposed to be your ward until the birth, so... so go back and sleep in your own bed, or whatever. I can manage fine from here, and we can meet at the house in a week, when we have to."

"Are you mad?" Harry asked. "You stopped being my ward ages ago!" He rolled his eyes. "I mean, I certainly know when _I_ sleep with someone for months, all I can think about is when I can get out of it! Honestly, have you lost your mind?"

Draco somehow managed to roll his eyes without physically doing so. "Sometimes I wonder if you even _think_ ," he said, letting go of Azura's bassinet and rising to his feet. "Look," he pointed to himself. "I like men, all right? I like that you have a dick, and I liked shagging you because of it. But," he added, scowling, "I'm not in the mood for you to become all pathetic and tell me that it's been fun, but you couldn't _possibly_ , or whatever you have in mind. So I'm letting you off the hook." He pursed his lips and looked at the doors, jutting his chin in their direction. "It'll be easier for both of us."

"But--" Harry frowned. "I'm not going anywhere. That's the whole point of it." When Draco started to shake his head, Harry continued. "Draco, you idiot, if you haven't realized, I've sort of been looking forward to this-- to you being normal again. _Finally_." The moment he said it, he knew that it was the truth. "And besides," he added, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't use such vulgar words in front of our daughter." He smirked. "If you're trying to shock me, you'll have to try harder than that."

Draco stared at the doors for a long moment before the corner of his mouth curved up slightly. "Never would have figured you for a shirt-lifter, Potter," he said casually, meeting Harry's eyes at last. He closed the distance between them and sat down next to Harry, so that Harry was just within reach.

"Harry," Harry corrected him automatically.

Draco nodded, suddenly very serious. "I know," he said.


End file.
